


Expecting the Unexpected

by dabblingwithwords



Category: Stranger Things - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Billy reluctantly becomes the dad, Emotion/Physical Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Just a lot of emotions, Language, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Redemption, Scary, Sci-Fi, Sexual Tension, Spooky themes, Steve is everyone's mom, demodogs, mentions of domestic abuse, past steve/nancy, upside down monsters that i make up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:04:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabblingwithwords/pseuds/dabblingwithwords
Summary: Steve was expecting the Upside Down. He was expecting the demodogs to wake back up, the vines to keep crawling, the beasts to emerge from their slumber in the shadows…But Billy fucking Hargrove was a complete surprise.





	1. Prologue

Steve really should have expected Billy Hargrove to show up.

Because at this point in Steve’s year-long stroke of luck, why wouldn’t he? He wasn’t expecting Billy to take in the house, to take in the kids, to take in _him_ , and begin to piece together that maybe something wasn’t right. Unfortunately, he didn’t think it wasn’t right for the right reason. He thought there was so weird sex thing happening between four young boys and Steve and yeah, Steve understood how bad this looked. 

So he was expecting the punch. 

And he was expecting the fight. 

But he wasn’t expecting having to be the one drive an unconscious Billy Hargrove to the police station so his dad could be called to pick him up. 

Max had elected to stay behind with Joyce, hell, after the night they just had Steve couldn’t blame her, but that meant it was just him driving Billy’s car to the station. He turned on the radio for lack of anything else to do, to take his mind off the dark turning pink as the sun rose, to try not to focus on how his body was crashing after his adrenaline began to fade. 

His heart was still racing, skipping in his chest like a hurt rabbit, and he tried to remind himself to breathe as he drove down familiar Hawkins streets. It’d been a while since he drove this early to clear his mind, and he got lost in the feel of it, almost forgetting that there was a body passed out across his backseat. 

“What the fuck?” he heard Billy slur and almost jumped out of his skin. Immediately he was on edge, expecting to be hit, expecting another fight, and shit he was _driving_ , he couldn’t defend himself. He glanced in the rearview mirror, saw Billy’s eyes struggle to open as the guy wiped at the dried blood around his nose. He didn’t wake up angry, which was what Steve had been expecting. 

Instead, he was confused, subdued, looking almost soft in the back of the car. 

“Shit,” Steve said without thinking and Billy turned his attention to him. “Um, you’re awake.” 

Billy blinked. 

“No shit,” he sighed, rubbing at his head with a low grown. Steve knew how that felt, he was exhausted, entire body hurting, from both Billy’s fists and the exertion of climbing in a weird alive tunnel all night. 

“Max is with Mrs. Byers,” Steve felt the need to say, because for all of Billy’s fury there had been a bit of concern as well. “They’re eating and going to bed. She’s safe.” 

“She better be, little shit,” Billy huffed with no real fire to his words. Steve bristled. He didn’t like how Billy talked about Max, how he treated her, but this wasn’t the time for him to lecture the guy. Not when his back was to him. 

“I was gonna take you to the station,” Steve said, slowing down at a stop sign as they neared closer into the edge of town, “But if you’re awake I can take you home.” Steve just wanted to go to bed. He’d be happy dropping Billy off here. He’d be upset at the guy if he wasn’t so tired, and he _was_ upset, Hargrove had really done a number on his face, and even the bandana wasn’t helping cover the worst of it. 

He’d pulled it down around his neck though, so he was sure Billy could make out some of the swelling even in the dark. When Billy didn’t answer Steve turned in his seat to look. 

There was a faraway look in Billy’s eyes, his expression one of soft resignation and hard determination. It was a strange mix, and one that made Steve curious. After a while, Billy shrugged. 

“You hungry?” he asked, not meeting Steve’s eyes. 

Steve had to bite down on his annoyance. 

“I want to drop you off and be done with the night,” Steve answered honestly. Billy surprised him by laughing, and not a mocking laugh, a soft one. One that seemed to understand that Steve didn’t want to be around him for a second longer, one that said Billy didn’t want to be with himself either. 

“Look,” Billy said, finally turning his gaze to meet Steve’s, “this has been a fucked up night. My sister is still at some whack-jobs house, you all were dressed like exterminators or some shit, and my dad’s gonna kill me coming home without Max, so you owe me an explanation, Harrington.” 

Steve scoffed. 

“I don’t owe you shit, you beat my face in,” Steve snapped. The familiar fire returned to Billy’s eyes, but it was gone almost as fast as it had appeared. Steve didn’t know what had happened after Billy beat him unconscious, but it had to have been enough to spook Billy into good behavior. It was enough to knock the older dude out, at least. 

“Let me buy you some coffee and you tell me what the hell just went down. Sound good?” Billy asked. 

Steve wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Billy wanted nothing more than to stall going home or being driven to the police station. Steve shouldn’t give Billy anything. But fuck, he was _hungry_ , and the money his parent’s had left him for groceries was almost depleted. He could use a free meal, hell, he deserved one after saving the whole fucking town. With a bone-weary sigh Steve began driving again, the town center pulling into sight. 

“I know the best diner in town,” Steve said, stifling a yawn in his bandana. 

“Shouldn’t be hard with a place this small,” Billy replied, but the usual mocking was gone from his tone. Steve almost smiled. Almost. The absurdity of the situation was enough to make him feel a bit hysterical. 

“You’re buying me a three coarse meal, Hargrove, hope you know that.” Billy huffed, and it sounded like it could’ve been a laugh. 

“Whatever you want, Harrington.” 

 

–––––––––––––––––––

 

The diner was a little outside of the town center, on the other side by the woods, away from Hawkins lab. Paper pumpkins and ghosts were strung up in the wide front facing windows, even though Halloween had passed. 

Steve parked in the small lot, and turned off the car with shaking fingers. There were only two other cars in the lot, one police and one truck. That’s the company you get, at five am– that, and one Billy Hargrove. Steve unbuckled and had to use every ounce of strength he had to open the door and roll out. God, he was sore. He hadn’t felt this exhausted in his entire life. It was like he had three hangovers and the flu all at once. 

Billy moved like his limbs were lead, heavy footed and loud, and Steve almost snapped at him to shut up but Billy wasn’t even talking and Steve didn’t want another fight. Couldn’t handle another fight. 

The sun colored the sky a dusty rose, light enough that Steve could see the bruises forming on Billy’s cheeks and jaw, and light enough that Billy could no doubt see every swell and scratch on Steve. 

“Move your feet, I’m starving,” Billy grumbled as he led the way up the path to the diner’s single entrance and Steve followed with legs that didn’t want to move. They entered and it was warm, smelled like coffee and hash browns and Steve sunk into the nearest booth, the red leather cracking under his weight. The only waitress behind the counter took him in with wide eyes and came scurrying over with a pot of coffee and two mugs just as Billy had taken the seat across from Steve. 

“You boys look like you’re half dead,” she said and if Steve had any more energy to expend he’d laugh. 

Thank god Billy did it for him, or else it really would have looked like he was dying.

“Just a little scuffle, Miss, nothin’ to worry over,” he said with a smile Steve knew was fake, taking the mug from her small hand. She didn’t look convinced, and her eyes darted over to the police officer watching from the counter, newspaper forgotten in his hand.

“Well, don’t look like nothing to me,” the waitress continued and Steve wanted to melt into the leather under him if she didn’t stop talking. “What you boys want?” 

“Full breakfast special for me,” Steve said, raising his coffee and taking a much needed sip. “Please and thank you.” 

“Same here,” Billy said, nodding his thanks as the waitress scuttled off behind the counter. Steve groaned and dropped his face into his hands. 

“This town’s too small,” Billy huffed, taking a large gulp of black coffee, “she’s gonna go blabbing and everyone’s gonna know we got into some kinda fight by noon, huh?” 

“That’s how it works,” Steve replied, fighting to keep his eyes opened. “Not helping matters that I’m gonna pass out on the table.” 

Billy kicked his shin and Steve glared, kicking back. Billy grinned, wide toothed and all, lounging back in his seat. 

“We’ll just do that whenever one of us starts to dose,” he said diplomatically, “then we don’t gotta worry about passing out.” 

“I don’t want a bruised shin on top of having a caved in face,” Steve sighed, drinking more coffee and letting it warm him all the way to his toes. Billy nodded, spreading his arms out on the back of the booth and looking out over the town through the wide windows.

They didn’t talk, after that. Just drank their respective coffee’s, ate their food when it arrived, and watched the sun creep higher into the sky. Steve was beginning to feel more like a person rather than a beaten down pulp of himself, and by the way Billy was sitting up straighter so was he. 

“So, Harrington,” Billy said, after their eggs had been eaten and bacon long gone, “what the hell was up with that house?” Steve was about to lie, about to say that the kids were playing pretend and he was supervising, but when he looked to Billy he saw the seriousness in his eyes and realized that the guy _had_ walked in on a very sketchy situation involving his little sister and suddenly Steve didn’t have the energy to lie and keep up with it. 

Lucas had told Max, obviously these kids weren’t subtle, and if anything like tonight happened again, if for some reason more of the upside down was flipped right side up, Billy could be dragged in through Max. He would also be good muscle; Steve rationalized, if more of those demodogs came back. Steve took a deep breath and settled into the booth, running a hand through his hair and not even wincing at the dirt and grime that had dried there. 

“It’s a long story,” he said, and Billy only raised a brow, “so we’re gonna need more coffee.” 

“I got all day,” Billy said and waved the waitress down. 

Steve was really doing this. 

God help him.


	2. The Man Made of Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve can't sleep. Neither can Billy. Neither can the man standing at the end of his bed.

Steve didn’t know what had changed, but Billy Hargrove was acting strange. 

Ever since Steve had dropped him back off at his house with his car Billy had been…nice wasn’t the word, exactly, because it wasn’t as if Billy was all smiles and wishing Steve well. It was something in his eyes, something in his body posture, which had Steve wondering. 

The guy was more subdued, quieter, less calling for attention and more disappearing into the sidelines. It wasn’t a drastic change, he still had jibes during basketball and gym, still had his sharp smile, but he didn’t hold himself as tall, didn’t look down at anyone as he walked past. He waited patiently for Max and picked her up after school, music turned down low so it didn’t shake the ground when he pulled away.

He hadn’t bodily threatened or harmed Steve, and he’d kept his distance from Lucas Sinclair. Steve wasn’t the only one who thought something was up. Dustin was all talk when he got into Steve’s car a week after they’d saved the town, and he looked shell shocked as Steve began to drive them back to his house. 

“He like, smiled at me?” Dustin said, more of a question than anything, like Steve would be able to give him an answer. “And apparently he talked to Lucas in the hall the other day with Max? He apologized.” 

Steve almost drove off the road. 

“Whoa! Hey–” Dustin began but Steve looked sharply over at him. 

“Are you yanking me right now?” Steve asked, and Dustin looked up at him with wide, genuine eyes. 

“No, dude, he like, said sorry and everything,” Dustin said, gaze flicking back and forth from Steve to the road, like he was expecting Steve to drive straight off. 

“That’s… insane,” Steve muttered, and Dustin shook his head right along with him. 

“Insane,” Dustin repeated. 

 

––––––––––––––––––

 

Everyone pitched in to help Joyce rebuild her house. 

After Eleven had thrown the demodog through the wall, and December creeping in, the gang realized pretty quick that Joyce and her family would freeze if something weren’t done. 

Eleven was very helpful, being that she could move the heaviest planks of wood and installation with her mind, so the whole thing was finished in a day. Billy had drove Alex over in the morning, and he lingered, watching. After a few minutes he strode over to Joyce– he had to bend down to be able to talk to her at eye level, and just the fact that he considered to do that had Dustin and Steve shooting each other a disbelieving look– before he began to help out.

As much as he could, really, with Eleven lifting shit with her fucking _mind_. Billy walked over to where Steve had given up on the front steps, the cold making everyone gravitate toward one another subconsciously.

Billy nodded to where Eleven was standing by Mike and Chief Hopper, the two men both smiling proudly even though she was the one who destroyed the wall and half the porch in the first place. 

“Guess you weren’t lying,” Billy commented, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his ratty jean jacket. It was nearing forty degrees and the guy still had his shirt open. Fucking Californians.

Steve shook his head, watching as the young girl held a piece of two-ton wood in the air. 

“I don’t lie,” Steve said, and Billy laughed loud. 

“That’s some bullshit,” he said, shaking his head. “Everyone lies.” 

Steve didn’t say anything else, and Billy didn’t prompt him to. They just watched in awed silence as a thirteen-year-old built a house with her mind. 

 

––––––––––––––––

 

The kids still did AV club. 

So sometimes Billy and Steve would wait together, not talking, not really, and if they did it wasn’t anything important, but they each waited by their cars, side by side, in the parking lot. On AV days Steve picked up Dustin and Will and Mike, took them to Joyce’s and they ate dinner together. 

Billy picked up Max, whose schedule was mostly consisted of her being grounded for not coming home that night three weeks ago. Billy was never early and he was never late, he always pulled into the empty lot where Steve parked right on time. He got out and sat on his hood to have a smoke, and after a week Steve got out to sit on his own car’s hood and wait in companionable silence. 

Sometimes, they talked about basketball. 

Sometimes, Billy had questions about the Upside Down. 

He’d taken in the information better than Steve first had. He didn’t make fun of Steve, or get insensitive. He was mostly curious, and desperate for something to happen in the small town, so Steve humored him: they talked about demodogs and Eleven and Will Byer’s disappearance. Billy would always huff his smoke and shake his head, white teeth sharp as he’d say: “Not such a boring town after all”. 

They usually stopped talking after that. 

The kids would come out of the school at 3:30 sharp, chattering excitedly amongst themselves, and they’d split as they got into their respective cars. Dustin always called shotgun, so he sat up front with Steve, and they’d all watch as Billy and Max climbed in and drove away. 

Sometimes, Max would pick the music. 

 

–––––––––––––––

 

Four months had passed and Steve still had trouble sleeping. 

He’d wake up to snarling in his ears, to chills on his skin, to sweat making him feel like he was drowning. No one talked about the aftermath, not really. Hopper had told him he was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress and ruffled his hair. 

There wasn’t much to be done about it. 

There were no doctors in the area that Steve could go to, and his parents believed in the whole “drink away your problems” method. Steve tried that, for a while. Back when he was hanging out with Tommy, they’d drink to fall asleep, to forget their problems. When Steve looks back he wished his only problems were still that simple. Now he wanted to drink to forget about petals with teeth, to forget about fire and smoke and the kids _screaming_ – 

He woke with a start.

It was past Christmas but his parent’s hadn’t taken down any decorations. He’d fallen asleep with his light on but it was off. The room was cold; he could almost see his breath puffing white and sharp in the grey air around him. 

Steve, suddenly, felt like someone was watching him. He felt the panic build, heavy and clogged in his throat as he scrambled for his bedside lamp. He turned it on and the room was lit in a gold glow, not enough to show the dark of the corners, and Steve felt himself freeze in fear. 

There was a man by his dresser. 

It was too dim for Steve to make out the man’s face, to see his clothes or his eyes, but there was a man, in his room, watching him. It looked like the man’s body wasn’t solid, like he was a forgotten memory trying to be remembered. Steve didn’t know what to do.

He was frozen still. The man didn’t move, didn’t do anything other than stare. 

Then, the light went out. 

Steve couldn’t help it: he screamed. 

He leapt from the bed, the sheets tangling around his ankles and bringing him to the ground but he was frantic in his movements, almost hysteric as he reached up and switched the light back on. 

There was no man. 

The cold had left; he could no longer see his breath.

Air felt impossible to inhale, each breath hurt and was too short. Tears pricked his eyes, his entire body shaking, almost collapsing to the ground. His hands unconsciously gripped the air like he would grip his bat, and he remembered it under his bed now. He bent down, picked it up, and left. He pulled on his boots and biggest jacket, gripped his keys in the same hand he held his bat and ran from the house.

He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to leave. He felt like he’d be in trouble if he stayed. He put the keys in the ignition of his car and drove, frantically, dangerously, down ice-covered streets. The trees grew taller around him, covered in snow and frost, and he drove in a daze, not really seeing until he recognized the driveway he was pulling into and shit, when had this become his life? When had Joyce Byers become the mother he wished he had? 

He almost turned around and left, but the lights were on and he was terrified, he felt like a child as he clambered out of the car and walked up to the porch. He hesitated in the snow, in the cold, the nailed bat in his hands. What the hell was he doing? 

_Jonathan_ lived here. Jonathan and his family. Steve had no relation here; he had no right to be here, no invitation– what if Jonathan answered the door? What would he do then? The dinners he had shared with them were linked through Dustin, mainly. 

He was becoming closer to the rest, but Jonathan still held an awkward air to him whenever he saw Steve, like he felt guilty, and a part of Steve was happy that he did. Jonathan never joined for the dinners, and neither did Nancy, and Steve was only invited because he sometimes dropped Will home after school with Dustin and Joyce was desperate for company. 

He saw movement in the kitchen and fled, running to his car and starting the engine.

He felt ashamed as he drove away, a little panicked that maybe someone inside had seen him. Steve’s parents had left earlier that week for business and Steve used to love when his parents were away. Now, all he wanted was to be surrounded by them. He tried to breathe as he drove but even that was difficult. He turned on the radio, tried to turn his mind off, but every tree that blurred by was a man, was a monster, and shit, he couldn’t do this. 

He pulled off the road onto the dirt path that led to the outskirts of town. He didn’t want to be alone in his house, didn’t want to be in the woods, and he knew his favorite diner would be open. It stayed up until 6am, then it closed until dinner and Steve was so thankful that the hours of it was meant to accommodate people as messed up as him. He pulled into the small lot and wasn’t surprised to see the cars there. 

He hardly took notice of how many there was as he put the bat in the backseat, got out, and walked up to the side entrance. The only entrance. He only needed to watch one door; he could sit in the far back booth with his back to the wall. 

Another thing: he couldn’t have his back exposed anymore. 

Funny, that. 

An older waitress spotted him from where she was serving coffee to a man with blonde hair and– shit. That was Billy Hargrove; Steve couldn’t mistake that god-awful mullet anywhere. Before he could duck his head and run on instinct Billy looked over his shoulder. He looked surprised to see Steve, just like Steve was surprised to see him, and then Billy made the decision for him: he waved him over. 

Steve’s feet decided for him and he walked to where Billy was, taking the seat opposite of him, his back to the wall. 

“Do you want some coffee too?” the waitress asked and Steve nodded, still numb, still voiceless. She gave him a concerned look but hurried off. If Steve kept showing up here looking fucked up all the time they’d stop serving him food and start giving him self-help pamphlets. Billy was watching Steve with a scrutiny Steve didn’t think the other boy possessed. 

“You good?” Billy asked, and it was so strange to hear him ask over Steve’s well being that Steve didn’t think it was real until Billy snapped in front of Steve’s eyes and brought his attention back to the present. 

“Yo, Harrington, I’m not gonna have to start playin’ footsie with you again, am I?” Billy asked, eyebrows pulled in to furrow his brow. 

When Steve didn’t answer right away Billy snapped again.

“Stop doing that,” Steve grumbled, swatting away Billy’s hand. 

He didn’t think that’d earn him a smile. 

“Welcome back,” Billy grinned, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the table. “You looked spooked.” 

“I’m not spooked,” Steve denied on instinct. Billy looked wholly unimpressed. 

“Well you can’t sleep,” Billy observed, sipping his coffee loud. “Is that why you’re here?” 

“Is that why _you’re_ here?” Steve retorted, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, his anxiety making him jittery and snappy. A film went over Billy’s eyes, one that pulled away the light and made him look guarded. 

More distant. 

“Sure,” he said, keeping his tone light even if his body language seemed heavy. “Been coming here a lot.” 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Steve asked, getting more comfortable in the booth and reaching for his mug. He had come to accept that he wasn’t going to sleep tonight. There was no way. So coffee it was. Billy hummed, looking out over the darkness of Hawkins Indiana. There weren’t any lights on in town, just the street lamps, and it made the town look small and forgotten. Steve wanted to forget it. 

“There’s some rad diners in Cali,” Billy said, looking at Steve from the corner of his eye, “but this coffee ain’t bad.” 

“Damn right it’s not,” Steve grumbled taking a sip just to prove his point. It was hot, burnt his tongue, and he tried not to wince. Billy would most likely laugh. They sat quietly for a while, and it was strange how easy it was. Steve thought Billy would be the kind of person who would talk non-stop, who would never run out of bribes or things to say. But that hardly seemed the case now. 

All the cocky, macho-man demeanor had left, and in its place was someone who couldn’t sleep, who didn’t want to talk and entertain, who was tired rather than angry. In that moment, Steve thought he could understand Billy. 

But– 

“I’m still mad at you,” Steve said, and Billy turned his head to look at him. 

“What?” he asked, baffled. 

“I’m still mad at you,” Steve repeated, trying to keep the smile from his lips because it would totally ruin what he’s about to say, “you still almost broke my nose.” Billy shook his head, a grin on his lips, but not his usual wolf’s smile, something kind and humbled and _different_. 

“Want me to kiss it better, Harrington? That makes up for it?” Billy teased, leaning forward over his coffee and this time Steve did smile, albeit reluctantly. 

“Stay over there,” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. “That’s your side of the table.” 

Billy raised his brows. 

“My side? What is this, pre-K?” 

Steve reached across and grabbed the pepper, pouring a line down the center of the table and okay, he’d clean it up but right now he needed it for comedic effect. And the way Billy smiled. Which was stupid, really, Billy was an ass with a horrible hair cut. 

“Your side,” Steve said, pointing at Billy’s hands, “and mine.” 

He gestured to the other side of the pepper line. Billy looked on, amused. 

“You’re kind of a nerd, aren’t you?” he asked, and Steve wasn’t even offended. 

He shrugged. 

“Yeah, guess so,” he admitted, sipping at his coffee. 

“I’ve never been pals with a nerd before,” Billy speculated, leaning back in his booth. 

“We’re not pals,” Steve said, pointing a finger at him. 

Billy spread his arms his grin growing. 

“Then what’re you doin’ hanging out with me at ass o’clock in the morning?” he asked. 

“I’m not,” Steve, said, “I’m drinking coffee.” 

Billy just shook his head and took another sip. They talked for a long time, after that. 

 

––––––––––––––––

 

It had been five months and Steve still saw the man. 

Sometimes he’d be in Steve’s yard, staring up at him. Never with a face, never with eyes, just an ashen silhouette in the dark that terrified Steve to his bones. 

His insomnia had gotten so bad that he stayed up until the sun rose, then slept for thirty minutes before he had to be up for school. His sleep depreivation was getting to him, and he was almost thirty minutes late to pick up Dustin one Wednesday. 

“Why’re you so late?” the young kid questioned immediately, getting into the car all bundled and warm and not sleep deprived. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve groaned, rubbing his eyes as he waited for Dustin to close the door. “Haven’t been sleeping well.” Dustin buckled up and Steve began to drive, fighting his eyelids to stay open as the usual school day traffic began. Dustin could easily ride his bike to school, but the mother’s had become anxious (with reason) and Steve had taken to giving them rides, especially since it was cold. 

Next stop was Lucas, who got in with more energy at Steve had had all month. Then, Mike, practically skipped into the car. Together, the three of them were loud as all hell, and Steve was easily getting a searing headache. 

“You kids need to lower your voices!” Steve snapped at the next light, turning in his seat to glare at his car full of pre-pubescent boys. “You shitheads are driving me crazy. It’s too early for you to be fucking singing.” 

“Wow, someone’s cranky,” Lucas muttered and Mike nodded in sage understanding. 

“What’s wrong Steve? You still missing Nancy?” Mike asked. 

“C’mon man, give me some credit,” Steve grumbled, pulling into the school’s parking lot. They all unbuckled, all save for Dustin who waited until Mike and Lucas had exited the car before turning serious eyes to Steve. 

“What’s going on?” he asked and Steve both loved and hated the kid for his observance. 

“I’ve just been having trouble sleeping, no big deal,” Steve sighed, making to get out of the car too but being stopped by Dustin grabbing his jacket. 

“Look, Steve, I get that you’re like, an adult and everything, but we all went through the same rough shit. You think I can sleep?” Dustin asked. 

“You look like you can,” Steve muttered with no real heat because hell, the kid was right. He needed to man up, or something. 

“So if you can’t sleep you can tell me. It’s been rough for all of us too,” Dustin said, and the words caught Steve by surprise. 

“Oh,” he said. “Um, cool. Thanks?” 

“No problem buddy,” Dustin smiled, patting Steve on the shoulder before grabbing his backpack and running to catch up with his friends. Steve sat in the car for a minute, thinking. Realizing, that he didn’t have friends like Dustin had Mike and Lucas. Not anymore, not since Tommy left, and then Nancy. And Dustin was sweet but he was still a kid and he didn’t need Steve’s shit on top of all of his. He didn’t need Steve telling him that he was still seeing things. 

Things he wasn’t even sure were real or not. 

“Fuck,” Steve let his head fall on the steering wheel, breathing deep, “ _fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone so so much for reading!!! I'm really excited to introduce some more creatures from the Upside Down! This is so much fun to write.


	3. The Scout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy and Steve go for a drive.

Turned out, sleep deprivation was dangerous. 

Really, Steve should’ve known that. 

Hell, he was living the affects of paranoia and not sleeping, and really the combination was going to kill him. He hadn’t seen the man in over a month, which was just making it worse. He thought he saw him everywhere. In the corner of his eye when he would brush his teeth, he saw him.

While he was driving Dustin and the kids to school he’d see him in the trees. Every shadow was the man, and every movement was him coming closer. Steve didn’t dream. He hadn’t in a long while, and with only getting an hour or three of sleep each night for the past month was getting to him. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t focus, he could barely find the energy to get out of bed most days. 

The kids noticed, of course they did. Dustin had taken to bringing him some of his mom’s coffee in one of her cat mugs and it showed how out of it Steve was that he didn’t even comment on it. 

“Maybe I should drive,” Dustin said as he got into the car, no greeting no nothing. Steve may have felt like every bone in his body was rubber but he could still laugh.

“Too early for jokes, dude,” he said, waiting for Dustin to close his door so that they could get to school.

Dustin didn’t. 

“You need to sleep,” the kid said, in the most serious voice Steve had heard. “Really, Steve, you’re gonna pass out.” 

“M’not gonna pass out man, c’mon, get in, we’re late as is,” Steve groaned, a throbbing headache already building in his temples. He took a sip of the coffee Dustin had brought. It was filled with too much sugar but Steve wasn’t gonna complain about that. That was nothing compared to feeling like he was being watched all the time. 

“If you pass out at the wheel you’ll kill the both of us, and then you’re gonna have to answer to Mrs. Byers. And Eleven. And Mike, and Lucas, and–”

“Kid, we’ll be dead, we won’t be answering to anyone. And I wouldn’t be driving if I felt like I was gonna pass out so close the damn door.” 

Dustin just stared and it was starting to get to Steve, annoying him faster than it usually would. He gave a deep sigh. 

“Dustin, c’mon, I wanna get this day over with.”

There must have been something in his voice, some broken part that resonated with Dustin, because the kid shook his head but closed the door and buckled up. 

“If you kill us _I’m_ gonna kill you,” Dustin muttered and Steve reached across the console and patted the top of the kid’s favorite baseball cap. At least he was smiling. 

 

–––––––––––––––

 

Steve had forgotten he had basketball until he saw Tommy in the hallway at school. 

He’d already missed two practices in a row, and right then just the idea of having to run made him want to melt into the school’s linoleum floors. He hadn’t meant to zone out while staring at Tommy but that was his luck now and his ex-dickwad of a best friend caught him looking and sauntered over.

Just seeing Tommy’s face was enough to make Steve want to punch something, so the guy coming within grabbing distance wasn’t too smart. Not when Steve was this wired. 

“Hey, Stevie-boy!” Tommy grinned, his crooked front teeth showing his crooked character and fuck, Steve was really not in the mood. 

Not even a little. 

“I can’t deal with you right now,” he said, closing his locker and shouldering his backpack. 

“Whoa! Hey, what’d I do?” Tommy yelled after him, his voice loud and booming in the hallway. Some students looked over, maybe expecting a fight, because Steve was finding himself in a lot of those lately. 

“What haven’t you done?” Steve shouted back, turning and walking away before Tommy could respond. He was angry, and exhausted, and seeing Tommy always had him on edge. He didn’t go to the gym. Instead, he ignored the bell signaling for him to go to his last period, and left the building through the back doors, standing on the outskirts of the parking lot with his car keys in hand and leaning against the trunk of his dad’s old BMW.

It was still cold, being the beginnings of February, and a light frost had fallen over Hawkins that night. Steve’s jacket was in no way warm enough, and he bounced on his toes, looking out over the parking lot into the practice-training field beyond. 

No more sports were holding their practices outside because of the weather, it was way too cold, so there was no explanation for the man standing in the middle of the dead grass, watching him. 

If Steve wasn’t frozen before he was now. 

Not even the cold could bite into his bones the way this man’s presence was. Steve hadn’t seen him for a month. The rational side of his brain tried to reason, tried to point out that the field was far away, that it could be anyone. The instinctual side, the one that ran with his gut reactions, was telling him to run. Because even from a distance and even if it could’ve been Coach Howard, the thing standing on that field didn’t feel human. 

There was no way Steve could explain it, no way he could reason with the strange, inexplicable knowledge that he just knew. 

His hands were shaking so bad it was a struggle to hold his keys, but he couldn’t look away. The familiar panic and nausea filled him, threatened him, but he couldn’t _move_ – 

The man was walking towards him, over frost-frozen grass and cold air, and Steve longed for his bat but his hands clasped nothing. He was losing it. He was definitely fucking _losing_ it because hallucinations were common when you were sleep deprived and–

The man raised his arm and pointed at him. 

_At_ him. 

He was pointing as if saying: “ _you_ ”. 

Steve’s vision tunneled, the edges stained black, and he could only focus on this silhouette walking towards him, signaling him, telling him he was– 

“Yo! Harrington! Get your skinny ass over here!” 

Billy. 

Fuck.

Steve blinked and he could see clearly. 

The man was gone, it was just him and his nerves and a throat that threatened to close. Breathing was hard, and he felt like his nerves were clawing out from under his skin. Exposed and freezing, he turned to see Billy was walking–stomping–towards him, gym towel over his shoulder and breath puffing white as he moved. The guy had to be cold; his cheeks were red from exertion and hair matted down with sweat. 

He looked angry.

Which was the absolute last thing Steve wanted to deal with. 

“I’m not in the mood, Hargrove,” Steve said, but it sounded more like a plea as he stuffed his still shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans. Even if him and Billy hadn’t been at each others throats the past couple months the guy was still unpredictable, was still angry most days unless it was five am at a diner on a hill. But Steve didn’t think about that. 

“Tough shit, princess, Coach sent me all the way out here to get you, I’m not about to be wasting my time in the cold. Let’s go,” Billy said, his voice sharp and blunt the way it was before he got quiet, and it was never good when Billy Hargrove was quiet. 

Steve bristled. He was never one for being told what to do, never good at following authority, especially if it was from an entitled bully like Billy. Throughout the last couple months they’d begun a tentative camaraderie between each other, not close to friends but sometimes bordering on friendly, so Steve felt a little off balance with the feeling that maybe they’d be fighting again. 

“Look, Coach can kick me off the fucking team for all I care, just leave me the hell alone,” Steve snapped, his nerves making him reckless and destructive and scared. Billy’s eyes flashed, a light coming on in their depths, and the taller boy planted his feet and grew a sharp smile that would leave anyone feeling uneasy. 

“So I’m gonna have to drag you in, that it?” he asked, rolling his broad shoulders. 

“Sure, big guy, then you gotta explain to everyone why I’m bleeding and we’ll both get benched for the semester,” Steve replied, a reckless part of him wanting Billy to punch him. There was a part of him, the part that was born from sleep deprivation and fear and paranoia, that wanted someone to hurt him. Make him feel something other than out of control, to make him feel something other than the dawning realization that he was going insane. 

Billy licked his lips, considering. 

“Ya know, I’m really fucking tempted to bash your face in,” Billy said, all jaunting humor gone from his tone, “but I feel like that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it?”

Steve felt a twin anger rising in him, at Billy’s callousness, at how he thought he knew what Steve wanted, what Steve was going through. Because in that moment all Steve could see was the man made of smoke and ash and horror and everything he’d never be able to forget and he was itching– _aching_ –to hit something. He needed to be distracted from himself. Billy was always good at doing that. 

“You want it too,” Steve pressed, knowing that all he needed to do was push Billy far enough and he’d snap, “I can tell. You really wanna hit me.” 

“I really want you to shut up and get your ass inside,” Billy growled, taking a threatening step forward. 

Steve almost felt giddy. 

“You’re gonna have to shut me up then, Hargrove, ‘cause I ain’t going inside, and you’re not gonna make me,” Steve gritted out, bending his knees and waiting to be hit. Billy walked to him, stopped a few inches away, his body heat radiating and tingling against Steve’s skin.

He smelled of sweat and faded cologne and Steve really _really_ wanted him to snap. 

“What’s your beef today, princess? Your panties are all in a twist,” Billy hissed, his growing anger barely concealed. Steve could feel it–waves of heat and threat simmering between them. It was a tension that felt familiar, that made his body tense, that made his breathing short. 

“Stop calling me that,” Steve snapped, poking Billy hard in the chest, hoping that would push him over the edge because if Steve didn’t get out of his own head, his own skin soon he felt like he would _break_ – 

Billy fisted his hands into Steve’s jacket and shoved him hard against the side of his BMW, the door handle digging sharp into Steve’s lower back. Billy didn’t give him a moment to catch his breath, his surroundings, before he was right in Steve’s face, inches away, and for some reason that was more dizzying than being thrown against a car. 

“Listen, Harrington,” Billy snarled, and there it was, that same fire he had when Steve and him fought at the Byer’s all those months ago– “you’re bein’ a real pain in my ass today. So why don’t you share with the class and tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Steve, for the second time in less than a minute was caught off guard. 

“Wait–what?” he asked, the mounting anger beginning to leave him the longer Billy didn’t cave his face in. Billy was staring at him like he was a dumbass, and he was, ask Dustin, but he had to be missing a crucial piece of conversation here. 

“What’s eating you? You’re drivin’ me and everyone else up the wall with your melodramatic bullshit, so what’s up? You on your period or something?” 

Steve didn’t even know where to begin. He just stared. 

That seemed to be making Billy itch, because he gripped Steve tighter and shook him a bit, like he wanted some answers and to be done with this entire feelings centric conversation. Which was strange seeing as he was the one starting it. Steve had just wanted to fight. 

When had they reached talking about their feelings to one another? All those late night coffees must be getting to him because he didn’t try to shake Billy’s hands away. 

“You–you’re seriously not gonna hit me?” Steve asked; confusion and disbelief clear in his voice. “Are you yanking me right now?” 

“I’m not yankin’ anything,” Billy grinned, canines sharp like a wolf. “Unless you’re beggin’ me too.” 

Steve must be losing it. He must be, because he started laughing. Not normal laughter either, not light laughter or kind laughter or “wow, that was really funny” laughter. No, this was hysterical, nearing on mania, and if he wasn’t laughing he’d be crying and there was no way in hell he’d cry in front of Billy Hargrove. 

Billy seemed taken aback, and his grip loosened on Steve’s shirt but he didn’t let go. He just watched as Steve Harrington had a fucking breakdown. 

“You wanna know what’s up, Hargrove? You wanna know my poison? I haven’t slept for fucking _months_! I keep seeing this man everywhere, every shadow, every tree, everywhere and it’s driving me up the fucking wall! My hair’s fallin’ out, I can’t eat, I can’t focus, I feel–” he cut off in a crude laugh, more a sharp inhalation than anything, and Billy looked on, expressionless– “I feel like I’m going _insane_! I feel like I’m turning inside out, I feel so fucking unstable, like nothing is real, like I’m not real like… _shit_ , I’m crazy, I’m crazier just tellin’ you this shit– _fuck_ …” 

Billy had let go of him during his tirade, his eyes wide and jaw set and Steve had never felt more off balance in his life. He couldn’t believe the first person he shared his emotional crisis with was Billy and now Billy thought he was crazy, and if Billy Hargrove– a loose canon if there ever was one– believed he was crazy then Steve must be _insane_ … 

“Are you high?” Billy asked and Steve lost it. 

All the energy was drained from him, his throat was tight, and he couldn’t see, from building up tears or his own delirious state he didn’t know but suddenly it was hard to do or feel anything. Air wouldn’t come. 

“ _Fuck_ you,” Steve spat, but it sounded weak even to his own ears. He turned and tried to unlock his car but his hands were shaking so horribly he couldn’t do it, and that was frustrating in and of itself, he couldn’t do the most simple thing–!

“Whoa, hey,” Billy said, voice soft and careful as he grabbed Steve’s wrist, not to hurt but to ground. Steve jolted, infinitely unfamiliar with being touched by Billy in a way that didn’t equate to pain. Billy must have seen that, seen some scared part on Steve’s face, because he let go and held both hands up instead, gesture placating. 

He looked cold now, in just his gym sweats and shirt, but all of his attention was on Steve, like he was waiting for him to bolt any second, and honestly that was all Steve wanted to do. 

“You can’t drive, man, not like this,” he said, and Steve had never heard him speak this gently before. “When was the last time you slept?” 

“Last night,” Steve rubbed at his eyes, tried to get his breathing under control. Billy crossed his arms. 

“Uh huh,” he hummed, unbelieving. “When was the last time you slept more than four hours?” 

Steve tried to think, he really did, but he didn’t even have the energy to lie. 

“I don’t know,” he sighed, “I don’t know.” 

Billy glanced back over at the gym before turning his attention to Steve. With a weary sigh, like doing this was somehow hurting him, he held out his hand. 

“Gimme the keys, we’ll go for a drive.” 

Steve scoffed, shaking his head and running trembling fingers through his greasy hair. 

“Whoa man, you think I’m gonna let you drive my car?” 

Billy squared his shoulders, unimpressed.

“Look, princess, you either let me drive while you get some Z’s or pass out and crash on your way out of the parking lot, your choice,” Billy said, hand still extended, waiting. Steve thought about it, he did, but at the end of the day he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t keep this up.

He couldn’t keep running from this with no sleep. He was getting weak, he could feel it, he could feel his body slowly shutting down, and if he was about to place his wellbeing in the hands of Billy Hargrove then that wouldn’t be the craziest thing he’d ever done. 

Wordlessly, he threw Billy the keys and went around to the passenger side. Billy unlocked the car doors and slipped in, starting up the engine and waiting for Steve to get inside too. Steve hesitated, looking over the roof of the car and out over to the practice field. 

The man was gone. 

Steve got into the car and Billy began to drive. It took about fifteen minutes before Steve had passed out, face pressed against the leather of the door, with the snow beginning to fall and Billy with his hands confident on the wheel. 

 

–––––––––––––

 

He woke and Billy was still driving. 

The sun was setting; the sky pink and red, and beautiful and Steve didn’t want to see it. He wanted to sleep. He made a groaning noise and turned in his seat, curling up to try and get more comfortable. Billy jabbed his arm. 

“Hey, wake up for a sec,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road and for how fast the guy was going Steve was grateful. 

“You’re the one that wanted me to sleep,” Steve grumbled, disoriented and groggy. 

“Yeah, and you did, and you can keep doin’ it, just tell me how to get to that creepy Byer’s kids house. I forgot where that second turn off was.” 

Steve roused himself, confused. 

“Why we goin there?” 

“’Cause you’re seeing monsters,” Billy said, like it was normal. 

Shit, was this Steve’s normal now? 

“We can’t go there,” Steve sighed, rubbing at his eyes and willing Billy to shut the hell up so he could go back to sleep and not feel his newly forming headache. 

“Like hell we’re not. Tell me before I run you out of gas.” 

“Listen, I get that you like, wanna redeem yourself now or some shit–”

“I’m not doin’ anything here to fucking redeem myself, you sound like my damn dad. That zombie boy–”

“Will,” Steve snapped. 

“Will,” Billy corrected, “sees shit too, right? From what you and Max have told me it seems like the first place you should’ve gone months ago.”

Steve hated that Billy was right. 

But– 

“I can’t bring more of this stuff to them, man. They’ve gone through too much as is, I don’t wanna–”

“Then the girl,” Billy interrupted, turning to look at Steve for the first time. “The one who can move things with her mind?” 

“What about her?” Steve asked, trepidation making him feel more awake. 

“Where does she live? She and the asshole Chief?”

Steve snorted. 

“What are you trying to do?” he asked, crossing his arms and shifting so his back was to the passenger side door and he could see Billy clearly. 

“Making sure you don’t die,” Billy snapped, frustrated. “Whys it matter?” 

“Cause you don’t help people,” Steve said, and if Steve weren’t looking for it he wouldn’t have seen the way Billy tensed. 

“Do you know where they live or not?” Billy gritted out, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, “or is this all some fuckin’ joke, huh?”

“You think I’d make this up?” Steve asked, offended. 

Billy shrugged.

“All I know is you flipped out, you’re refusing help and don’t want anyone involved. So either you’re on some heavy shit right now and crashing, or–”

Steve never heard what came after “or”. 

All he heard was the front of the car screeching, the metal bending up, like they’d hit something huge, something immovable, and then the glass behind Steve’s head was breaking and that was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are wonderful! Thank you so so much for all your comments and for reading, having feedback helps keep me writing and on track.


	4. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is having a no good very bad day

Steve had never been in a car accident before, but his mom was right: it did happen fast. There was the glass shattering; the stings of the shards, the jolt of the vehicle, a popping tire, then–silence. 

Everything came into focus in spurts of color, then black. His head felt like it was a grape being crushed, throbbing and tight. His side was stinging but he barely registered it. He was being moved, dragged across the road, asphalt scratching his back where his shirt and jacket had rode up his skin, and he blacked out.

The woods, next, the grass tickling his ears, the dirt rubbing the back of his neck and face. He heard shouting, muffled, as it was he couldn’t make out the owner of the voice. 

Voices. 

He couldn’t see what was dragging him, only that it was moving fast, faster than he could run. He tried to speak but his throat was too dry to say the words. He just wanted to sleep. The cold was the only thing keeping him conscious, or helping him hold onto consciousness, and in a distant thought he wondered what happened to Billy. 

Whatever was dragging him had a death grip, solid, and the fear came slow, ice in his veins, until there was a loud whoosh in his ears and the hold on him was gone. Strong arms were around his chest instantly, under his armpits, pulling him up, and his head was heavy, he didn’t know whether he was going to pass out or throw up.

It was decided for him when another pair of hands pushed his hair back, touched a tender spot by his temple, and unconsciousness came again.

 

––––––––––––––

 

The room was wide, a kitchen and living space and bed all in one. 

Steve woke and immediately vomited over the side of the bed, retching as black spots danced in his vision. He fell back to the mattress with a wheeze and acidic taste in his throat. Fuck, he just wanted the room to stop spinning. He jumped when a damp cloth was laid over his forehead and then Joyce Byers’ voice was hushing him, brushing his sweaty hair back and leaning over him on the bed. She was blurry, but Steve could recognize her from her soothing voice alone. He felt himself relax into the sheets.

Sensation was coming back slowly, first the numbness of his left ankle, the pounding of a headache and the sharp sting of a scratched back. He groaned and Joyce held water under his mouth, urging his head up so he could drink. He did, and felt better. 

“He awake?” that was Jim Hopper, Steve felt his footsteps vibrate through the iron of the bed frame. 

“Yeah, he’s coming to,” Joyce said, fingers still brushing back Steve’s hair. “Hey, honey, can you talk to us? You have a pretty bad concussion, try to take it slow.” 

Hopper came into view behind Joyce, his arms crossed, a nasty three set of scratch marks on his right cheek. The sight of that, of blood, brought back breaking glass and a car crash. 

Steve pushed himself up and Joyce helped guide him to lean against the wall. The room spun and his stomach churned but he ignored it. 

“He threw up all over his shoes,” Hopper muttered, wrinkling his nose and Joyce shushed him. 

“We’re at Jim’s place,” Joyce said without prompting, still holding the rag to Steve’s forehead. “Jane showed us where to find you.” 

“Jane? Is she here?” Steve asked, words slurred as if he was drunk. 

“She’s on the roof,” Hopper sighed, like this was something Eleven did often, and knowing the girl she probably did. Steve was always finding himself grateful to her, would probably have bled out on the street– 

“Is Billy–?” he began. 

“Kids fine,” Hopper interrupted, his voice hard and almost scolding. “Outside having a smoke. You took the worst of it. Whatever crashed the car was trying to get to you.” 

“That’s a reassuring thought,” Steve sighed, opening his eyes and really trying his best to focus on the two adults by his side. “Jane say what it was?” 

Joyce’s face twisted, into anger and panic, all at once. 

“We both saw it,” she said, referring to Hopper and herself. “Billy did too.” 

“Great, he’ll definitely believe me now,” Steve said, taking the washrag from Joyce to hold it against his own skin. 

“Believe you about what?” Hopper asked, voice serious and hard and _great_ , Steve knew he was about to get chewed out.

When he hesitated Joyce tried her approach, gentle and coaxing, she took Steve’s hand, and how did even _that_ hurt? 

“Has something been happening?” she asked, and Steve knew she was thinking about Will, already scared for her son, and _that_ …that was why Steve had kept his fucking mouth shut. 

These people, these kind-hearted, _good_ people, were just beginning to get their footing after the events of last November. They were beginning to live like they had again, and now Steve was going to ruin all of it. 

“It’s probably nothing–” Steve began, wanting to comfort her like she was comforting him, but Joyce’s hand tightened hard around his own and he cut off, sighing. 

“I’ve been seeing a man,” he said, reluctant, looking to Hopper because he couldn’t look at Joyce right now, “for the past couple of months.” 

“What does he look like?” Hopper asked, intent. 

“A silhouette,” Steve said, head giving a sharp throb that had him shuddering. “Dark, no face, like he’s made of smoke or something.” 

Joyce made a hurt sound, pulling her hand away from Steve and getting to her feet, turning away. 

“Shit, Mrs. Byers, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to–”

“This isn’t your fault, kid,” Hopper intervened, “you gotta understand that nothing that’s happening or has happened is your fault, you got that?” 

Steve nodded, stunned. 

“Good,” Hopper sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Joyce, let’s give the kid some air, huh?”

Joyce hadn’t turned but she nodded and Hopper reached out, pulling her closer to his side in a public show of comfort. The man had gotten better at showing his feelings, and it still took Steve by surprise when he was emotional. 

“So it’s back,” Joyce whispered, eyes hard and fists shaking against where she had them curled on Hopper’s chest. The big man sighed, meeting Steve’s eyes. 

“Looks like,” he said. 

There was a strange note of defeat in his tone. 

 

––––––––––––––––

 

Steve must have fallen asleep because when he woke up it was dark outside. 

A small light was on in the kitchen and living room, but no Joyce or Hopper. Billy was seated at the small table in the kitchen, back to Steve, hands wrapped around a white hand-made mug. 

Steve could see the bandages on the boy’s knuckles. 

“Wow, hey, you’re alive,” Steve said without thinking and Billy turned in his seat, the chair creaking as he shifted his weight. There was a deep bruise on his cheek and the side of his neck, but the lighting in the kitchen was too dim for Steve to make out much else. 

Then he noticed the gun in Billy’s lap. 

“What’s that for?” he asked, and Billy, instead of answering, dug a beaten cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it. 

“I’m on look out duty,” Billy said, inhaling deep and watching Steve with dark eyes, “the cop and mom left to go do God knows what, so I’m in charge of making sure nothing gets in.” 

Steve eyed the gun warily and tried standing, only for the room to spin and he fell back to the mattress with a dull thud. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t try movin’, bambi,” Billy said, blowing smoke rings and becoming fixated on the curling smoke. 

“Stop giving me dumbass nicknames,” Steve groaned, ignoring Billy’s warning and standing again. This time the room stayed in one place so he walked into the kitchen, taking a tentative seat across from Billy and the shotgun. 

Billy grinned, that fake shark smile, before puffing out another ring of smoke. 

“You don’t like bambi either?” 

“Why the hell would I like being called a deer?”

“’Cause you both can’t walk,” Billy said, like _Steve_ was the idiot. 

“Dude, bambi can walk,” Steve sighed, leaning back in the chair and ignoring the slight, constant headache he always seemed to have. 

“Not on ice,” Billy argued and Jesus, this guy was infuriating. 

“Why are you still here?” Steve snapped and Billy simply puffed his smoke. 

“I already told you. Wow, that crash must’ve knocked the remaining brain right outta ya.” 

“I mean why didn’t you leave immediately? Why did you agree to even stay, I thought you’d want to go pick up chicks or whatever you do in your spare time.” 

“I fuck in my spare time,” Billy said with a leer and slow grin and Steve made it a point not to look at Billy's mouth as he gave an exaggerated suck on the last dregs of his cig. 

“Great, okay, sure, didn’t answer my question,” Steve crossed his arms, waiting. Billy looked off beyond him, to the window and outside, further into the night of the forest. 

“I saw it too,” he said, with a forced air of apathy, and Steve waited, holding his breath. “The thing that dragged you. Snatched you through the window, right out of the car. Happened so damn fast.” 

Billy took another large inhale, rubbed out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot before lighting another one. 

His hands were shaking, just a little. 

“You weren’t making any of this shit up then,” he said at length, finally meeting Steve’s eyes. 

“So Jane lifting up shit with her mind wasn’t enough to convince you?” 

“It was enough to convince me the kid was creepy, but not about monsters and shit,” Billy said, leaning forward on the small kitchen table. “Guess I’m in this now.” 

“You don’t have to be,” Steve said, immediately, “you could give me the gun and go.” 

Billy laughed, loud and insulting. 

“Yeah, sure, princess, you can’t even walk straight,” he argued, shaking his head. 

“I can walk straight dumbass, I walked over here,” Steve snapped back. 

“Ya know, you’re a real pain to talk to,” Billy huffed, but he was smiling in a way that wasn’t mean so Steve didn’t take it seriously.

He felt the same way, after all. And yet, here they both were. 

“I need some beer,” Steve groaned, resting his face in his hands. “This year has been shit.” 

Billy nodded, exhaling more smoke. The smell was a little dizzying, but Steve wasn’t going to complain about it. His mother smoked like that all the damn time. 

“Bet this cop has some,” Billy said, standing from his seat and moving to the fridge. 

He opened it with a sharp tug, cigarette dangling from his lip as he surveyed the shelves in front of him. Steve could see his eyes light up and with a wide smirk he held up two six packs, both fit in one hand. 

“Thank fuck,” Steve held out his hand for one and Billy passed him a case, keeping the other for himself. Steve popped the tab immediately and drank half of it in one go. 

Billy looked to him, eyebrows raised. 

“I’m not holding your hair back if you throw up,” was all Billy said before opening his beer and draining it at the same pace as Steve. 

 

––––––––––––––

 

Steve didn’t know how late it was, and he was too drunk to care. 

He had taken to sprawl out on the chair, head lolling a little on his shoulder. Billy had taken the same kind of stance; sipping his beer and watching Steve fumble for his fourth. 

Steve had only seen Billy drunk once, or drinking, the guy didn’t seem to be stumbling around or anything at the time, and didn’t _that_ feel like so long ago, that party where Nancy had called him bullshit, called what they had bullshit, had called everything bullshit and Billy…

Billy had had a leather jacket and not much else, beer and sweat making a shirt and he’d seen Steve through the throng of bodies and approached without any hesitation. That had been almost as shocking as Nancy’s confession. 

It was strange to think that it was Billy sitting across from him now and not Nancy. Nancy had never babied him, or took care of him really, so to have Billy sitting there with a damn shotgun with one eye on the window and one on the door was almost touching. 

Steve drank and finished his forth, reached for his fifth, and was only a little surprised when Billy didn’t stop him. Just let him keep drinking, like he could feel that this was what Steve needed right now. 

“Won’t your parents be worried when you don’t come home?” Steve asked, sipping in a clumsy fashion that had half the beer dripping down his chin. 

“Nah,” Billy shrugged, taking a large gulp, “I don’t come home a lot of the time.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, and then, because he was drunk and had absolutely no filter, “’cause your busy fucking?” 

Billy scoffed, a real smile tugging at his lips but he rolled his eyes all the same. 

“What about you,” Billy asked, changing the subject, and Steve felt a little disappointed that Billy hadn’t played along, “your folks gonna freak when their princess doesn’t come home?” 

For some reason that hurt; in his chest there was an ache of what he thought was an old detached pain, but it didn’t feel detached when he had five beers in him. 

“My parents don’t care,” he said, resting his chin in his hand and struggling to keep his eyes open. “I could be gone for a week and they’d have no way of knowing.”

He could feel Billy’s eyes on him, intense and unwavering. It felt like he was trying to catch Steve’s skin on fire, as if he could stare hard enough and there’d be a spark. Steve was drunk, but he could still feel tension, especially when it was tension like this, tension that came with something more. He raised his eyes and met Billy’s stare and– 

Yeah. 

Electricity. 

It was different than the electricity with Nancy because the fact that Steve was _feeling_ electricity, electricity to a _boy_ , was something he didn’t know how deal with. 

“They neglect you or something?” Billy asked. Steve wondered if Billy could feel how thick the air between them was. 

Wondered if Billy was having just as hard a time breathing as he was. It took Steve a moment to remember that they had been talking about their parents.

“Or something,” Steve whispered, voice cracking, and he drank the last of his beer to try and get rid of the tightness in his chest, the newfound panic he was starting to feel. He wasn’t drunk enough for this. 

“Can’t be that bad,” Billy speculated, leaning forward, “they don’t beat ya or nothin’, do they?” 

Steve shook his head and reached for his sixth can. This time, Billy caught his wrist, gently, his thumb and forefinger pressed against Steve’s pulse. Steve’s heart jumped and Billy had to have felt that because the older boy’s eyes were calculating and hesitant and just a little surprised. 

“You’re really drunk,” Billy said and his voice was deeper, his grip tightening. 

“No I’m not,” Steve rebutted, pulling his wrist away. 

His heart was jackhammering in his ribs, everything felt fuzzy and warm and shit he was really drunk. 

“Can’t believe King Steve is a lightweight,” Billy continued and Steve couldn’t look at him, not right now, he was too inebriated. If he looked at Billy now he’d notice things. Things like the color of his lips, his eyelashes, his strong jaw, his long fingers– 

“I’m going to bed,” Steve announced, standing swiftly and swaying before he caught himself on the edge of the table.

“Don’t make me carry you,” Billy sighed, knocking back the rest of his beer and making his way to stand and _that_ had Steve panicking even more. 

“I’m fine, I’m good, I got this,” he said, slurring over his words in his rush to get them out. 

Billy shook his head, walking to stand in front of him with his arms crossed and his eyes dark. 

“If I let you fall and hit your head again I’ll be dead, Harrington,” Billy reasoned but he didn’t make a gesture to grab or touch Steve in any way.

Just waited. For what, Steve didn’t know, but he tried to walk around Billy and miscalculated, stumbling and _oh_ , that’s what Billy was waiting for because the guy caught Steve before he could even begin the tilt down. 

“God damn, bambi,” Billy groaned, moving so that Steve’s arm was over his broad shoulders and Billy’s looped a tight vice around Steve’s waist.

Even his touch burned, Steve was so aware of it. 

“You made out of lightning or something?” Steve slurred, grumpy at being helped, panicked at what that was doing to him, as Billy led him back to the small bed in the corner of the house. 

“What are you mumbling about?” Billy sighed, depositing Steve onto the mattress without much care. 

Steve was asleep before he could even think of a response. 

He woke up to Eleven–

 _Jane_

–staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh thank you guys so much for reading this. Sorry this chapter is so short, I wanted to post something really bad, and this is what I had.
> 
> Also, take note, the rating has gone up!


	5. Whipped Cream Whipped Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get waffles.

Jane was staring at him like she could already read into all of his future life choices and was already disapproving. Hell, maybe she could, Steve had no idea what the extent of her power was. From the way Hopper talked, neither did she. When she didn’t speak, just stared, he felt like as the adult he should be the one to start the conversation. 

“Hey, I heard you–”

“Stop talking,” she interrupted, and Steve felt both embarrassed and idiotic as he clicked his mouth shut. 

She didn’t say anything further, just kept up her intense staring, and Steve kind of wished Billy would come in and make a scene so that he wouldn’t have to go through this weird interrogation any longer.

Speaking of– 

“Do you know where Billy–”

“I don’t know why it’s chosen you,” Jane said, tilting her head like an owl and squinting her eyes. 

“You mean the man?” Steve asked, hating just saying it out loud. It was fine when it was in his head, before it pulled him from the car, before Billy saw it too–he could pretend, in the quiet moments, that it wasn’t real. But if Jane was involved it had to be bad. 

“Man,” Jane repeated, reaching up and touching Steve’s temple. It was a strange, tingling touch, and she pulled away after a moment. 

“Yeah,” Steve swallowed, throat suddenly tight, “the man made of smoke.” 

“The man Will Byers saw,” Jane said, elaborating on a piece of information Steve didn’t know. 

“Will saw a man?” Steve asked, sitting up straighter against the wall and moving his legs in case Jane wanted to sit. 

The young girl nodded. 

“First thing,” she said, “before it took him.”

Steve tried not to have another anxiety attack but it was growing more difficult by the second. He focused on his breathing and on Jane, and tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him he was next. 

That this was it. 

“So a dude’s trying to kidnap picture perfect over here?” Billy’s voice rang through the small living space, bounced off the wood, and Jane hardly reacted to the volume of it. 

“Not ‘dude’,” Jane said, scrunching up her nose at the slang, “smoke man.” 

“Yeah,” Steve croaked, trying to grin to cover up his growing nerves. 

“So we get the police, right?” Billy asked, coming to stand by Jane, arms crossed over his chest, “the Chief that lives here should be able to find him.” 

The bruises on Billy’s skin were yellow around the edges, purple in the middle. They looked deep and painful. Another mark, on how real last night had been. 

“No,” Jane said, looking up at Billy. 

When she didn’t elaborate Billy shifted his weight, agitated. 

“Whaddya mean “no”? If someone’s tryin’ to kidnap–”

“Not a real person, Billy,” Steve sighed, rubbing at his eyes and trying to keep his growing anxiety at bay. 

He didn’t even noticed he’d said Billy’s actual name until he opened his eyes and met the other boy’s gaze. He looked caught off guard, and Steve was instantly wary that he’d crossed some sort of invisible line they’d created, one where they kept their distance with nicknames and cheap banter. 

He hadn’t meant to say Billy’s name. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it felt like one.

It felt like Steve just knocked a barrier down. 

He was grateful that Jane was pretty oblivious to other people’s inner emotional turmoil’s as she broke the awkward silence that had descended. 

“I saw you,” she said, and Billy broke eye contact to look down at her. 

It was almost comical, to see them standing side by side. A little nerve-wracking, because Billy didn’t use to–and sometimes still didn’t–treat Max with much compassion or care, so Steve had no idea how he’d adjust to Jane. 

Though, to be fair, Jane could throw him out the nearest window without moving so. There was that. 

“You saw me?” Steve asked, looking from Billy to her. “What do you mean?” 

“I saw the man take you from the car,” Jane elaborated. “Before it happened, I could see.” 

Steve let out a breath; giving Jane a grateful smile and reaching up to ruffle her curly hair. It got him a shy smile and hell, if that didn’t make his heart burst with affection. 

“Thanks then,” Steve said, “for saving my ass.” 

“Saving your ass,” Jane repeated, smiling that small smile, “my job.” 

“Guess it is,” Steve grinned, settling into the mattress as his nerves began to calm, “so the man. He’s from the Upside Down?” 

“That’s what we’re thinking,” Hopper said, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t heard the man come in, let alone begin moving in his kitchen, popping two eggos in the toaster, shrugging off his jacket. 

“Why is it hooking on to me then?” Steve pressed and Hopped sighed as Jane made her way over to him, sitting herself at the kitchen table and peeking over the counter to stare at the eggos toasting. 

“Got no damn clue on that one,” Hopped admitted, crossing his arms and eyeing Steve with a no bullshit look, “you might have to stay here a while.”

“Um,” Steve began, meeting Billy’s eyes, “no? I have a math quiz coming up.” 

Billy scoffed and Steve shot him a glare. 

“Since when are you concerned with your grades, Harrington?” Billy asked, tilting up his chin. 

“Since I almost didn’t make it to senior year, asshole,” Steve snapped, instantly annoyed. 

Billy’s eyes flashed but he miraculously remained silent, probably not wanting to cause too much of a fit in front of the Chief of Police. Steve couldn’t keep the smug smile off his face at the realization. The tightening of Billy’s jaw was totally worth it. 

“I also can’t stay here,” Steve said, sitting up and throwing away the covers, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, “I’m not sick or anything. Look, I can walk just fine.” 

It was almost impressive how everyone in the room managed the same unamused expression. 

“Harrington, if someone is trying to kidnap you, one of those monster things, then why the hell would you leave the safe place with the chick who can move things with her mind?” Billy snapped, voice hard and condescending. 

Steve crossed his arms, shifting his weight and ignoring the tensing of the muscles in his thighs. He really was bruised, but at least he wasn’t swaying on his feet anymore. 

“I can’t just stay here forever!” Steve exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. 

“Not forever, kid, calm down before you pass out again,” Hopped sighed, striding over and stopping at the edge of the kitchen. 

“I only passed out once,” Steve, muttered, indignant. 

“Try three times,” Billy corrected. 

Steve ignored him. 

“You’re gonna stay here for at least another day,” Hopper said, “and since you two drank all my damn beer you–” he pointed to Billy, “–are going into town and buying me more. Then you can go.” 

“If I’m having a little sleepover I need new clothes,” Steve said, gesturing to himself, “I mean, I’m covered in blood and dirt, pretty sure I smell–”

“You do,” Billy said. 

“Shut it– see? I smell. If you’re gonna hold me hostage–”

“You can leave,” Jane interrupted, “but then I’m going to.” 

“Like hell you are,” Hopper said and Jane grabbed her eggos just as they popped up. 

“I can go outside now,” Jane said, her tone daring Hopper to argue. 

The man sighed, rubbing his eyes and turning to face her fully. 

“I know, but if we got more Upside Down hell going on–”

“Then they’ll only be safe with me,” Jane blurted. 

There was an expectant silence, one where Billy looked skywards and probably prayed for patience that he’d never have. Hopper and Jane looked to be communicating telepathically, or just arguing with their eyes, but whatever was going on Jane won because Hopped seemed to pray for patience as well before nodding and turning to Steve and Billy. 

“She’s going with you,” he said pointing at Jane over his shoulder, “and if one of you so much as looks at her funny I’m locking you up for three months you get that?” He was looking directly at Billy, whose entire body was taunt, like he was preparing to run or fight and Steve wondered if Hopper and him had ever run into each other before. By the way the two of them were squaring off it seemed like they had. 

“We get it,” Steve said, tugging on his shoes and reaching for his jacket, trying his best to diffuse any beginnings of a disagreement between the Chief of Police and a pain in the ass teenager. 

Absently he gave his jacket a sniff. 

Billy was right, he did stink, all of his clothes were stiff with dried mud. He was uncomfortable, and desperately needed a shower. Jane seemed unbothered by any lingering tension in the room and simply got her eggos and followed Steve out of the house. 

Billy sauntered a few paces back, hands in his jacket pockets, squinting against the winter sun. Steve felt around in his pockets for his keys, stopping short and almost causing Billy to run into him when his hands came up empty. 

“Shit, did the Upside Down take my fucking keys?” he muttered, patting down his jeans. 

He jumped and spun around when Billy whistled through his teeth, effectively getting his attention. Billy held Steve’s car keys between his thumb and forefinger, and they glinted in the sun. 

“Great, hand ‘em over,” Steve said, holding out his hand. 

Billy only closed his hand around them, and shrugging his shoulders. 

“Last I checked you’re recovering from a concussion,” Billy said, eyeing Steve with a haughty air. 

“It’s my car dipshit,” Steve glowered, taking a few steps closer to where Billy was standing. 

“Yeah, and I’m gonna drive it.” 

“Last time you drove it we almost died.” 

“’Cause a fuckin’ smoke monster man _grabbed you_ –”

“I can drive,” Jane interrupted and both Steve and Billy whipped around to face her. 

“Like hell–” Billy began but cut off when Steve’s car keys were pulled from his denim jacket and hit Steve in the chest. 

“If Steve passes out you can drive,” Jane said, walking over to the car door and wiping a light trail of blood from her nose. 

Steve and Billy watched as she got into the backseat, before Billy met his eyes. 

“Not fair, you got a psychic weirdo on your side,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound too bent out of shape about it. Mostly impressed. 

“Yeah, I do,” Steve grinned, twirling his keys and walking to the drivers side, “now get your ass moving, Hargrove.” 

 

––––––––––––––––

 

Jane had made herself comfortable in the back seat–feet tucked under her, eggo crumbs falling into her lap and butter staining her chin. 

Steve still felt tired, but driving wasn’t difficult. Billy had his feet up on the dash, mud getting onto the leather, and Steve found it irritating but was realizing that with Billy he had to pick his battles, and he’d been lucky in not having to fight today.

It had begun to snow, a light dusting on the ground and causing Hawkins to fall into a melancholy grey. Steve drove to his house first, parked in the driveway and took the keys from the ignition. He hesitated before getting out, looking from Billy to Jane. 

“You guys gonna be okay on your own?” he asked, almost nervous to leave them unsupervised. 

They were both unpredictable and impulsive in their own ways, and Steve wasn’t sure how they’d act alone together. 

“Stop actin’ like a mom, princess,” Billy muttered, picking at his nails as Jane fumbled around with some of Steve’s cassette tapes and gym shoes in the back. 

“Please don’t get into trouble,” Steve pleaded, looking at Jane. 

“God, just go get your damn panties, Harrington,” Billy hissed and Steve held up his hands in surrender before closing the car door and making the walk up to his front porch. 

His parents weren’t home, the lights still off and no voices were coming from upstairs. He had gotten used to coming home to a cold, dark house, but after being with Hopper and Jane for a day he realized that maybe he wasn’t used to it, just accepting. 

He made his way up the stairs to his room, got a duffle and filled it with some sweats, underwear, socks, a t-shirt. He got his toothbrush and his Sarah Fawcett hair spray (wrapped in his briefs so if anyone went snooping they wouldn’t see), and made his way back downstairs, pausing when he passed the kitchen. 

The door to the laundry room was open, the light on inside.

He hesitated in the front hallway; nerves making his skin break out in goosebumps. He tried to remember if the door was closed when he first came inside, if he had maybe left the light on before the car crash, but he hadn’t done laundry in a week and never left that door open. 

The light inside flickered. 

Then went out. 

Steve’s house was always cold, but now it was freezing. 

In what felt like a second a shadow descended over the house, and Steve felt like he was choking, like he was drowning, like he was going to die– 

“Steve!” 

He opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. 

Jane was standing in front of him, and he was on the ground, by the door, Billy hunched over him, gripping his shoulders in a white knuckled grip. Steve looked up at him, surprised by the urgency in Billy’s hands, to find the other boy ghostly pale, the bruises on his skin standing out in stark contrast. 

The only thing that Steve could register, though, was that Billy had said his name. His actual name. 

“We need to go,” Jane said, and Billy practically dragged Steve out of the house, his duffle over his left shoulder and Steve’s arm over his right. 

“I can walk,” Steve tried but Billy ignored him, grabbing his keys from Steve’s pocket and pushing him to the passenger side. 

“Get in,” Billy said, his voice hard and leaving no room for an argument.

Dazed, Steve slid into the car. Billy stuck the key in the ignition and floored it, and before Steve could blink they were roaring down the street, the wind and trees and houses whipping by in a fast, disorienting blur– 

“The hell– _hey_ , Billy, slow down–”

Billy looked over at him and Steve shut up. Instantly. 

The other boy looked frightened and angry in equal parts, his hands tight around the steering wheel and his entire body tense. He was the tension before a storm. 

“Not a word, Harrington,” Billy hissed, turning to look back at the road. 

Steve wanted to press the issue, wanted to tell Billy to slow down, to ask what the hell had just happened, but the strain in the car was almost worse than it had been in the house and when Steve shifted in his seat to make sure Jane was okay he slowly began to realize that maybe something bad might have happened. Or almost happened. 

Jane met his gaze, and wiped the blood from her nose. Dark, it stained her pale knuckles. She was shaking. 

“It’s strong,” was all she said, before turning to stare out the window. 

They drove a while longer, until Billy seemed to calm down and slowed to a more reasonable pace. Steve had moved his attention to look outside the window, and wasn’t expecting Billy to speak. 

“Hey, psychic girl,” he said and Steve saw Jane perk up in the corner of his eye. 

“Jane,” she corrected. 

“You hungry?” Billy asked, fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel. 

He refused to meet Steve’s eyes. 

“Yes,” Jane said, then fell silent. 

“Great,” Billy said, grin forced and fake, “I know just the place.” 

 

––––––––––––––

 

Steve hadn’t been to the diner in a while. 

He wasn’t surprised that Billy chose to take them there, but he was surprised when Billy got out of the car and practically ripped Steve’s door open. 

“Listen, bambi,” he said, voice pitched low and warning, “stay close, you got that? You see something, you tell us. Capisce?” 

Steve swallowed. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking. 

Billy dug a cigarette out of his back pocket, lighting it as he turned away. 

“I’ll meet ya inside,” he called over his shoulder, “get me some waffles!” 

Steve watched him walk to the other side of the parking lot to stand and smoke by the edge of the woods before he turned to look back at Jane in the backseat. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

She nodded and got out. 

 

–––––––––––––––

 

They were seated at a booth closest to the front door, the only one available, and made themselves comfortable. 

It was crowded, busier than Steve had ever seen it, but that wasn’t saying much as he mostly visited when it was three am and he hadn’t slept in a week. Jane ordered waffles as well as a can of whipped cream, and was coating the entirety of her food in the white whip. Billy looked on with raised brows and an almost grin, smelling like smoke and drinking his coffee black like his life depended on it. 

Both of them, Steve thought, were acting strange. 

Both of them had seen something, and Steve had ended up on the ground. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” he asked, stomach in knots and unable to even think about eating. 

Jane had discovered the maple syrup and found that far more interesting than Steve’s current frazzled state. Billy was sitting next to him, and he didn’t look away from Jane and her order of sugar with a side of waffles. 

“Just a dark house,” Billy said, speaking around an unlit cigarette, his teeth worrying the butt of it. 

“Okay, that’s bullshit,” Steve glared, their silence making his anxiety worse. 

“Not bullshit,” Billy snapped, “your house went pitch black. We found you on the floor, this one–” he pointed the chewed cig at Jane– “said she felt something weird.” 

“I did,” Jane agreed around a mouthful of waffle. 

“Did you see anything?” Steve pressed, feeling desperate, frantic, “I don’t remember anything.” 

“You need to eat something,” Billy sighed and pushed his plate over to Steve, “you look like you’re in shock.” 

“I’m not in shock,” Steve snapped. 

“You’re shaking,” Billy argued. 

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s fucking freezing out and no one is telling me–”

“Steve,” Jane said, soft and authoritative. 

Steve looked to her. 

“When I closed the gate I closed the door,” she said, leaning over her waffles, “something got locked out. Now it wants to get back in. I think it needs a body to do that.” 

Steve just stared. He didn’t know how to begin to wrap his mind around that. Billy shifted, leaning forward on his elbows and looking Jane right in the eye. 

“How do we kill it?” he asked, jaw tight, eyes hard. 

Jane stared at him like she could see everything, like she knew who Billy Hargrove actually was. In a way, she probably did. 

“You’re scared,” she surmised, shaking the can of whipped cream and making to spray more on before Billy caught the can and Steve froze, waiting for Jane to throw him across the diner.

She didn’t. 

Instead, she looked amused. 

“You saw it too,” Jane said, “when it took Steve from the car. It tried to take you after it tried to take Steve.”

Steve froze, turning to look at Billy who still wasn’t meeting his eyes. His attention was all on Jane, nothing else. Then, he let go, sitting back in the booth and crossing his arms, jaw working as he tapped his foot anxiously under the table. 

“Was it in my house?” Steve asked, fearing the answer. 

“Yes,” Jane said. “That’s why you’re staying with me. I can block it from finding you. But you need to stay close.” 

“You’re gonna have to explain that once I can focus again,” Steve groaned, rubbing his eyes and willing for the day to be over. 

The diner felt too loud all of a sudden, too crowded. He wanted to leave, as soon as possible, because there was something inhuman after him and that thought was–was terrifying. It was all too much. It was all– 

“Budge over,” Billy said, effectively interrupting Steve’s internal breakdown and leaning across him to take the can of whipped cream before spraying half over his own waffles. He cut a square and took a big bite, raising his eyebrows when Jane made another grab for the can. 

“She’s gonna eat all the whipped cream in this place,” Billy grumbled under his breath, and Steve almost smiled. 

“Would if she could,” Steve answered, taking his fork and cutting into Billy’s waffles. 

They helped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh!! I'm sorry if there are any grammar issues, I don't have a beta and I feel really dizzy rn, so I'm going to edit later tonight. Thank you for reading!!! Much love!


	6. The Happening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man is cold.

Billy threw the six-pack of beer in Steve’s lap with the same amount of consideration someone would give stepping on a worm. 

“ _God_ , watch it,” Steve grumbled, adjusting so that the beers weren’t so dangerously close to his crotch. 

Billy ignored him. 

He’d been doing that a lot, recently. 

Ever since the event at Steve’s house and Steve had no idea why. He also didn’t have any idea why he cared. He didn’t want to care. But for some reason Billy not giving him the time of day was really starting to get under his skin. 

Billy was never _not_ paying attention to him. At school he’d seek him out, at parties he’d approach drunk on cheap beer and Pall Mall’s. Steve wasn’t used to Billy not trying to get in his face. It was leaving him uneasy and paranoid. 

Feelings he didn’t need intensified. 

Jane was splayed out in the back of the car. 

She had lain down with her knees up and eyes closed. She looked like she was concentrating so Steve hadn’t bothered her but with Billy not wanting to engage he was growing restless to break the silence that had fallen. 

Billy took a right at the fork instead of a left into the woods and Steve turned to look at him.

“You passed the turn off,” Steve said, pointing to get Billy’s attention.

Billy only gripped the steering wheel with his right hand, his left reaching for the cigarette behind his ear. 

Steve tried not to let his agitation show. 

He really did. 

“Hargrove,” he snapped, knowing that saying Billy’s name would only make the other boy angry, and he didn’t want a fight he just wanted to be heard, “where the hell are you taking us?”

“I gotta get home,” Billy said, biting on the end of his smoke, “Dad’ll start to freak. So fuck off and let me drive.” 

And Steve…

Didn’t know why he felt disappointed. 

Only that he did. 

It was a bizarre enough feeling that he didn’t argue, just put the case of beers by his feet and turned to look out the window instead. 

 

––––––––––––––

 

Billy stopped a block away from his house. 

Steve had driven Max home enough times to know that the red brick they pulled up in front of was not Billy’s house, but Billy got out just the same after putting the car in park, and walked around to where Steve was getting out of the passenger seat for the switch.

Billy stopped Steve with a hand to the other’s elbow, and Steve stilled instantly. With Billy, he always expected a fight first, and talking later. 

With Billy, he should always expect the unexpected. 

“Listen Harrington,” Billy began, voice pitched so low that not even the birds in the tree over could hear, “I don’t give a shit about what happens to you. We gotta get that straight. But I’m kind of in this monster shit now. So you need to watch your back, you got that? I don’t want this thing comin’ after me as soon as it’s done tormenting you ‘cause your head was stuck in the clouds.” 

Steve didn’t know what to say. It sounded like Billy cared a little, or else the other boy wouldn’t have bothered with a goodbye. He wouldn’t have taken Steve for a drive to help him sleep in the first place. He wouldn’t have shared food, wouldn’t have held a gun, wouldn’t have visited a diner at three a.m. 

So Steve didn’t say anything. 

Instead, he studied Billy’s face. 

And Billy?

Billy looked like he cared. 

If Steve didn’t know Billy he wouldn’t have known what to look for: the tense posture, the desperate look in his eyes, the unthinking grip on his arm… 

Steve was an idiot. 

“You be careful,” he said, not looking away from Billy, “I don’t want you hurt because you tried to help me.” 

Steve was an idiot.

Just ask Dustin. 

Something happened in Billy’s gaze. Something seemed to break, seemed to become soft. Billy let go of Steve’s arm and stepped back, putting space between them. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” Billy said, trying for cocky and coming up forced, “I know how to plant my feet.” 

He turned on his heel and began walking away without another look back. 

Steve exhaled, his hands shaking as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

“What’s “plant your feet”?” Jane asked from the backseat. 

 

––––––––––––––

 

Hopper’s house looked like a military base. 

When Steve pulled up into the driveway the first thing he saw were the rows of familiar bikes littered around the lawn and between trees. Hopper was hammering steel over the front door, and Joyce was puttering about inside, holding various weapons and more steel plates. Max was in the living room; Steve could see her red hair from a mile away. 

Steve almost turned the car around. 

Jane tumbled out of the front seat, dashed past Hopper who tried to get her attention, and ran inside. Mike was most likely helping with the renovation. Steve sighed, reaching across the car console to grab his duffle. He put it over his shoulder, got the six-pack, and stepped out of the car.

As soon as his feet hit the dirt Nancy emerged from the house, coming to hand Hopper more screws with a smile that faded when she caught sight of Steve. It wasn’t like they never talked, they did at school, but Steve had done a damn good job avoiding her these past couple of months that made the awkward tension still just as fresh as it had been during Christmas. 

He imagined getting into the car, flipping everyone off, and driving away. Right now, everything was out of his control. He felt like he was just along for the ride and Nancy was the next stop in all of this. In a strange, ironic twist, he wished Billy were with him. At least the attention wouldn’t be just on him. 

But Nancy was kind, or maybe still feeling guilty, because she walked down the porch steps and approached with a timid smile. She was bundled in a light pink and mustard sweater, an oversized jean jacket hanging off her shoulders. Steve knew without asking that it was Jonathan’s. He remembered when she’d wear his bomber. 

He’d since thrown it out. 

“Hey,” Nancy started, unsure and testing the waters of their tentative new standing, “you need help carrying anything?” 

Steve looked down at his duffle and the beers. 

“I think I got it,” he said, “thanks though.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Nancy said, her words stumbling over each other.

They stood in an awkward silence, not quite meeting eyes, not quite knowing what to do with themselves. She looked so nervous, so bad, that Steve felt a bang of pity towards her. He wasn’t used to feeling that with Nancy. 

He didn’t like it. 

“Have you been seeing anything?” he asked, wanting to cut her some slack, “or is it just me?” 

If possible, Nancy looked even worse. 

“I haven’t,” she began, pointing over her shoulder, “but Will’s been seeing things. You two might want to compare notes.” 

“Great,” Steve sighed, his stomach dropping like lead, “I was hoping he’d be left out of this–”

“Steve,” Nancy interrupted, reaching out and touching the crease of his arm, the same spot Billy had grabbed, right above his elbow, “before you continue you need to understand that this isn’t your fault, okay? It’s not your fault.” 

Steve didn’t hear her. 

He was too busy noticing that her touch wasn’t as warm as Billy’s. 

“Steve?” Nancy repeated, worried when he didn’t answer. 

“Sorry,” he said, pulling his arm away and moving around her, “I just want to get this day over with.” 

He left her. 

 

–––––––––––––––––

 

The kids were gathered around the kitchen table, all talking over each other, all making a fucking fuss, and Steve was struggling to just _not snap_. 

He felt like he was crawling out of his skin, frustrated at being useless, frustrated at feeling helpless, frustrated that the Upside Down couldn’t fucking stay _down_ – 

Will was seated next to him. He wasn’t talking, wasn’t adding to the noise, and Steve was beyond grateful to the younger boy for that. He had always liked Will. He admired his strength, his resilience, his desire and love for life, because, the hard truth of all this was, was that Will always got the short end of the straw. 

He hadn’t had a normal anything in two and a half years, and Steve’s heart hurt for the kid. Steve couldn’t even begin to identify the guilt that was eating away at him for bringing more things back to Will. For being used as a pawn to continue this process. 

He took a large sip of beer.

Hopper had handed it to him after everyone began throwing around their theories, throwing around their fears, their ideas, and Steve had walked away with the knowledge that: 

1\. When Jane closed the gate it locked something with them. 

2\. It wants to return back to the Upside Down. 

3\. It needs a vessel. One that won’t easily break, one that can be easily manipulated, one that won’t cause too much alarm by disappearing. 

That’s what hurt Steve the most, because fuck, his parents wouldn’t notice for weeks if he were to disappear. 

 

A possibility (raised by Dustin): 

4\. Steve was the one to light the heart on fire. 

 

“Talk about some payback, right?” Dustin had asked, looking up at Steve, and all Steve had felt was sick. 

He was terrified. 

And he was terrified of feeling terrified, because any moment that his emotions weakened him was opportune time for the man made of ash to come to him. Mike had said (too enthusiastically) that it was wearing Steve down. 

It was working him to the point of daily mental breaks, to the point where Steve would convince himself he was going insane, that his parents would feel threatened by his emotional state, that he would lose his grasp on every reality he’s ever known– 

“Don’t get too far in your head,” Will whispered and Steve seemed to jolt back into himself. “He likes that.” 

Steve laughed, a bit hysterical, and took another large gulp of beer. 

“Yeah?” he croaked, “any more tips?” 

Will smiled, sad and shy, and Steve wanted to wrap the kid in a blanket and shut him away and shit, now he knew how Joyce felt. Well, like 1% of how Joyce felt. 

“It’s scary,” Will admitted, looking down at his hands. He was wearing a sweater that was too big for him, that had moth holes and loose ends, and was probably Jonathan’s. Steve wanted him to stay safe like he was now. He felt the guilt, sharp and bitter, stirring inside him. 

What the hell was he doing, dragging all of them into this again? 

Especially Will. 

Will, who hasn’t slept normally in months. Will, who has permanent black circles under his eyes, who jumps at any loud noise, who can’t eat without his mother present and needs every light in the house on… 

“Hey man,” Steve whispered, nudging Will gently with his elbow, “it’s not gonna get you again, okay? I’m not about to let that happen.” 

Will’s smile was soft and sad and broken. 

“It’s coming after you Steve,” he said, voice cracking, “I’m worried about you.” 

 

–––––––––––––––––

 

Steve took a shower with the light on and door locked. 

He knew that Jane was in the next room, along with Hopper and Joyce and Will and Jonathan, and Nancy, with her fancy new shotgun that Hopper had gotten specifically for her.

His nail bat was leaning next to the shower and Steve could reach it from where he was under the water.

His fingers itched for it, but instead he filled his palm with shampoo and lathered his hair until his eyes stung from the suds and he could blame the soap for his tears. 

 

––––––––––––––––

 

“Here honey, you need to eat,” Joyce said, putting a plate with a hot pocket on it in front of where Steve was sitting in the kitchen. 

They had reinforced the entire house, steel plates on the doors, over the windows. Lights were set up all over the living room and kitchen, and while none of them knew how to keep the Upside Down away they figured a strong base couldn’t hurt. It would help if there were more demodogs, but Steve had no idea if they’d have any affect over a being that was made of smoke.

“Thanks, but I’m really not hungry,” Steve replied, feeling nauseous just looking at the microwaved dinner. 

Joyce let out a breath, reaching out to pull up a chair so that she could look Steve in the eyes. It was uncomfortable, and Steve couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t, not with his guilt. Not with what he was doing. 

“Steve, honey, look at me,” Joyce whispered and her voice was gentle enough that Steve wanted to see her expression. 

“I told you before, but I’ll tell you again: none of what is happening is your fault. You’re not hurting Will, you’re not hurting me, you helped us, no questions asked. Let us do the same for you.” 

Steve didn’t know what to say.

He tried to clear his throat, to say his thanks, but he couldn’t. He saw Max from the corner of his eyes, saw her sit by Lucas on the couch, where the kids were sitting around the small coffee table trying to talk about the motives of the Mind Flayer and the guardians and everything was becoming way too much– 

“Hey,” Joyce said, reaching out and taking Steve’s hand in hers. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until she touched him. 

“None of that. Stay with me,” Joyce soothed, her thumb running over his knuckles. 

His mother had never comforted him like that. He’d never had this soft of a touch. He wasn’t about to cry over it. 

“Yeah yeah, I’m good, I’m good,” Steve muttered, rubbing at his eyes with the hand that Joyce wasn’t holding, “I just–I hate how helpless this feels.” 

Joyce nodded, her big eyes wide and understanding. 

“I know,” Joyce said, sighing as she released Steve’s hand, “but please eat something. You need as much energy as you can get.” 

The “in case” was left unsaid, but Steve had heard it anyway. 

 

––––––––––––––––––––

 

It was midnight and the kids were sleeping on top of each other in the living room. 

Mike had built a fort that Jane and Max had curled up under, and Steve hadn’t moved from the kitchen. Hopper and Joyce were outside, smoking. Steve could see the embers of their shared cigarette through a gap in the steel on the smallest living room window. 

He wasn’t tired, not with how wired he was, not with how paranoid he felt. The bat was on the table in front of him, and he ran his fingers over the rough grooves. Some of the wood was splintered from where he had struck a demodog, dried blood on the nails and some of the handle. It felt like another lifetime, when he wielded the bat. It felt like a long forgotten dream that he was just now beginning to recall. 

“Dude, your hair looks like shit,” Dustin said and Steve jumped about five feet in the air. 

“ _Fuck_!” he exclaimed, turning around to stare at the younger kid, “the hell man, you can’t sneak up on me like that, shit!” 

“You really need to calm down,” Dustin sighed, walking over and pulling a can of soda from the fridge. He popped the tab and gulped like it was beer. 

“Calm down? You’re right man, I should just calm down, thanks! Problem solved, I don’t even care that the spokesman for the Upside Down has a hard on for me!” Steve hadn’t been aware that he’d been yelling until Lucas poked his head over the top of the sofa, his eyebrows creased in a pout. 

“Yo, Harrington, can you keep it down?” Lucas muttered, the end of his sentence slurring with his fatigue as his head disappeared behind the sofa again. 

“What is up with you guys and your useless fucking advice?” Steve snarled, his irritation and fear scratching at his throat and making his words sharp. 

He pushed his chair away from the table with a screech, ignoring Lucas’ head popping back up to glare at him. 

“Where’s Billy anyway?” Steve grumbled and at Dustin’s blank look he gestured wildly to where Max lay sleeping in the blanket fort. 

“Oh,” Dustin said, understanding dawning, “I don’t know. He was supposed to pick her up a few hours ago.” 

Steve ran an agitated hand through his hair, feeling even more annoyed that Billy had just left Max here when there was something really not great coming after Steve’s ass. How fucking selfish could a guy be? 

Steve wanted to punch him. Or something. He didn’t know what he wanted or needed, but his skin felt like it was buzzing, like it was making him electric, and he couldn’t keep his jittery limbs to himself. 

“Dude, stop tapping your foot you’re shaking the whole house,” Dustin said. 

“Do you have anything helpful to say to me tonight or are you just critizing all my life decisions?” Steve snapped. 

Dustin sipped his cola. 

“Tapping your foot is a life decision?” 

“No, dumbass, I meant do you have anything that can help me or are you just trying to stress me out?” 

Dustin looked immediately contrite, and Steve felt a pang of remorse for snapping at the younger kid. 

“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean that,” Steve sighed, reaching forward and ruffling Dustin’s hair. 

“It’s fine, Steve,” Dustin said, smiling his closed eyed grin that always had Steve smiling just a little in return. “I get that your stressed. I’d be wired too.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, picking his nails against the wood of the bat’s handle, “I feel like I’m losing it. The anticipation is killing me.” 

“That’s true,” Dustin said, looking down at his soda, “we have no idea when you’re going to see the smoke dude again. I think we’ll call him the scout, ‘cause, ya know, he’s scouting for things–” 

“Sure,” Steve said. 

“And it may not even be a he ya know? Like it’s smoke, but it can take on a physical form, so we know it has a definite volume.” 

“Sure?” 

“We could try burning it?” 

“I’d be down to light something on fire,” Steve said. 

Dustin smiled, wide and large. 

“Should we lure it here?” 

“And that’s where we stop talking,” Steve sighed, grabbing Dustin’s soda and taking his own much needed drink, “we’re not gonna lure the Upside Down to us.” 

“True, it already knows where we are,” Dustin muttered, taking his soda back. 

“Yeah–wait, what?” 

“Think about it Steve, this thing has been able to find you whenever you’re alone right?” 

“Um,” Steve croaked, gripping his bat tight on instinct, “right?” 

“Right. So it’s attached to you. Or something.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, “great.” 

Dustin patted him on the arm, smile still in place. His pajama bottoms dragged on the floor. 

“Keep your chin up, Harrington,” he said, “it’s not that bad. It’s left you alone for a few hours now, so it obviously isn’t–”

“Dustin,” Steve hushed, his words more air than anything, and “it’s here.” 

The kid stilled, and from the corner of Steve’s eye he could see Mike begin to wake up, Jane standing in front of Max by the fort. 

But none of that captured Steve’s attention more than the man standing behind Dustin, in front of the door. 

The fear was back, that same feeling of cold from when Steve saw it on the field, from when it was in his house. It felt lifeless, like it wanted warmth and took it all. Steve hated it just as much as he feared it. 

“Steve?” Dustin asked, voice cracking. 

“Don’t move,” Steve whispered, grip tightening on his bat. 

He knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t help. 

The man pointed, his long arm extending past Dustin’s shoulder, his pointer finger pressing like a nail against Steve’s chest, into the fabric over his heart. 

Steve couldn’t move. 

He couldn’t raise his arms let alone feel them. 

All the sensations he normally felt were gone. He was numb, cold, he felt like he wasn’t even breathing with this thing touching him. 

“Steve!” that was Will, who was clambering over the sofa, who was trying to help despite how badly he was shaking, “don’t let it–”

Everything happened at once. 

Hopper and Joyce came bursting through the front door– 

Jane raised her hand– 

A cars headlight flashed over the porch– 

And Steve felt the thing reach into his chest and claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so so much for reading and leaving your feedback!! Comments really help give me motivation!


	7. The Itch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's got a new "friend".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobic slur 
> 
>  
> 
> btw: it's the weekend now. like, saturday.

It felt like he was both burning and freezing all at once. 

And then, suddenly, nothing. 

There was a sharp ringing in his head, high enough that it made him want to cry, want to cover his ears but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t feel any part of his body. He tried to move his fingers, he couldn’t. He tried to move his legs, his toes, but everything was numb, disconnected. 

A hopeless desperate panic filled him, made his chest, tight, and he could see the room but it was covered in a thick-fogged film, one that even blinking couldn’t fix. 

He could make out Dustin’s voice, but he couldn’t understand him. Not clear enough to try and force his mouth open. He tried to focus on feeling the wood of the bat in his hands, thought that maybe if he could center his concentration on one part of his body that the numb would– 

_Don’t move_. 

That wasn’t a voice he recognized. 

It seemed to come from inside him, and he could feel his arm moving without wanting it to, dropping the wooden bat to the ground with a clatter. 

_I don’t want that_.

Steve tried to move that arm again but couldn’t.

His heart was beating so hard he thought it’d break through his ribs. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the hot cold of his body, how his skin felt overly sensitive, like a simple touch would make it flake off his muscles. 

_Shut that kid up_ , the voice hissed and Steve didn’t even have time to connect the dots, didn’t even have time to think “what kid”, “which kid”, before his arm was striking out and cracking Dustin’s nose. 

Steve had never felt horror like this. 

He could see the shape of Dustin falling back, of his gasps of pain, and he couldn’t _control his fucking body_ –

He wanted to tell them that. 

He wanted to open his mouth and tell them to run, tell Dustin to get back, tell Joyce that something was wrong, that he was hurt, that he was scared, that he wasn’t _him_ – 

_You’re so weak. I've never known something so weak_ , the voice said and Steve gritted his teeth because he couldn’t move his hands to punch himself. 

“Shut up,” he hissed, tongue heavy and rough like sandpaper in his mouth and at least he could still speak, even if it hurt, even if it made his lips _burn_. 

Steve couldn’t focus on the movement around him. 

He knew Hopper was going to go for his gun soon, that Nancy was pushing the kids back, away, he…the front door was swinging open, hitting the wall loud enough that even the voice in Steve’s head seemed attentive to it. 

Steve couldn’t see clearly but he could make out Billy Hargrove’s walk anywhere. 

There was a small part of him that sagged in relief. There was another part in him, a part that felt oddly disconnected, that looked at Billy and salivated. 

_Strong_ , was all the dismembered voice said before Steve felt a tugging, low in his gut and then sharp, growing and pulling, like something was trying to leave him to get to Billy and Steve understood then, he understood what this thing wanted. 

The smoke needed a vessel, needed a body, needed something strong, and Billy Hargrove was strong. But Billy wasn’t mentally strong; Steve knew that, Steve knew a lot of things about Billy Hargrove. 

“No,” Steve snapped, his entire body vibrating as he forced his hand up to his chest, and even that felt like he had been arm wrestling with a 300lb man for weeks, _fuck_ , everything felt so weak, but at least he could move his hand. Had to, as the pull in his chest got stronger, and he dug his nails into his chest through the fabric of his shirt. 

_Stronger_ , the voice keened. 

“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” Steve said, putting more pressure on his chest, trying, desperately to get a hold of whatever the fuck had gone inside of him. 

The harder he tried the more he burned but he could feel the voice growing agitated, could feel its anger at Steve’s disobedience, so he kept pushing it back, kept willing it to stay in him and fucking _listen_ – 

He could see black run along his arms, under his skin, like the thing was close to the surface, like it wanted to rip him apart to get to Billy and, yeah, fuck that. 

“You’re stuck with me,” Steve told it, not sure if he was speaking out loud or to himself, he was too disoriented to tell. 

The voice gave one more violent tug and Steve felt like his insides were being ripped loose. There was an enormous pressure in his stomach, painful enough that Steve was scared he was being crushed. Then the thing was screeching, loud in his ears, and that almost hurt worse than his insides but the black film under his skin was receding and Steve knew, he just knew, that he’d gotten it. 

The room came into focus so fast it spun. 

He crashed over the chair behind him, knocking his head against the hard wood floor and that managed to make the voice stop screaming. Huh. Could it feel what Steve felt?

Steve tried to swallow, his throat dry, limbs heavy but no longer burning. Feeling returned slowly, like ice melting over his skin, and he gasped for breath, the pain receding. He’d never felt anything that intense before. 

While he had managed to keep the thing inside of him it wasn’t gone, he could feel it, lingering behind his minds eye, beneath his blood, waiting. It was angry, Steve could tell, angry and a little hungry. For what, Steve didn’t know, but it was the sensation that scared him the most. 

“Oh shit,” Dustin said and his voice came back to Steve through clogged ears, “he’s bleeding again.” 

“Fuckin’ move,” Billy groused and then Steve saw him, his strong hands gripping Steve’s shoulders and the back of his head. 

“His head ain’t,” Billy whispered under his breath, his words harsh and sharp but the touch to the back of Steve’s neck and skull were gentle and supportive. 

“T’hell are you doin’ here?” Steve slurred, words heavy and clumsy in his mouth. 

They tasted like copper and when he swallowed it coated his throat. He was surprised he even made sense with the way he could feel every part of his body shaking, uncontrollable. 

Billy looked at him, his expression unreadable. 

“What’d I tell ya about being careful, jackass?” Billy snapped, using the leverage he had under Steve’s head and shoulders to get him to sit up. 

It hurt; moving, and Steve inhaled and tried to flinch away but couldn’t get far with how tight Billy was holding him. The thing inside him practically _purred_ and Steve felt that tug again, that jolt, before he gritted his teeth and tried to focus on pushing it back down. 

It made his head sear in pain, a fire across his temples, but it was worth keeping the thing if it meant he had some control over it. 

_You’ll weaken_ , it said, an echo in Steve’s mind, _you’ll weaken and I’ll take you. Just like I’ll take him. Like I’ll take everyone_. 

“God, you need to shut the hell up,” Steve groaned and Billy looked at him like he was crazy. 

“I didn’t say anything, Harrington,” he replied, eyes flicking across Steve’s face. 

“Not talkin’ to you,” Steve sighed, not meaning to lean against Billy’s arm but he couldn’t keep himself upright without the support. Billy, surprisingly, didn’t push him away, just resituated him so he could lean against the wall by the kitchen table. 

“I feel sick,” Steve told him. 

Joyce came into focus next, bringing him a small wastebasket and pushing the hair off his face. 

Steve’s knuckles ached and it helped bring him to the present, the rest of the room and its sounds coming in clearer. The kids were loud as all hell, like usual, except for Will and Jane who were standing behind Joyce with equal looks of consideration and fear.

And then Steve pieced together the throbbing in his hand and tried to find Dustin. 

Dustin, whose nose he might have broken. 

“Aw, shit,” Steve croaked, trying to make his legs work so he could stand and apologize because Dustin was standing by Lucas with a rag to his nose, the red sharp against the blue of the cloth. 

“Don’t move,” Billy snapped, pushing him back and Steve grabbed the other boy’s wrist on instinct, his thumb digging into Billy’s pulse. 

His heart was beating fast. 

“I gotta tell Dustin I’m sorry,” Steve tried to explain but Joyce just laid a hand on his other shoulder and brought his attention back to her. 

“Do you need to throw up?” she asked, scooting the trash bin even closer to Steve’s thigh. 

Steve nodded. 

Then he passed out. 

 

–––––––––––––––––––

 

He woke up to a dark room and his hands and feet tied to the bed frame. 

He should’ve seen this coming. 

Billy was standing next to him, arms crossed, looking down on him with a furrow between his brows. He had two cigarettes in his mouth and Steve wanted to laugh. 

_Let me in_ , the thing said, _let me in and I’ll get us free_. 

“Wow you never shut up,” Steve said and his voice was rough like sandpaper and gravel. Speaking hurt. 

“I’m assuming you’re talkin’ to whatever the fuck went inside you,” Billy said, speaking clearly around his smokes, “that’s pretty messed up.” 

“You’re tellin’ me,” Steve agreed, testing the strength of the rope. 

The cords itched, dug into his skin. 

_I can break them_ , it said. _Let me break them_. 

“They tried to make you sweat it out or some shit,” Billy continued after a moment’s consideration, gesturing to all the heat lamps that Steve was only just now realizing, “but it didn’t get the thing outta you.” 

“ _That’s_ why I’m soaked in sweat,” Steve mumbled, wishing they’d at least dry his clothes because now that things were coming into focus he could feel the cold of dry sweat, the ache of rope burn on his skin. 

_They don’t care if they hurt you. They just want me_. 

Steve tried not to let those words get into his head. He knew what this thing was trying to do. It wanted him to break completely, and Steve wasn’t anything if not stubborn. 

“Then leave and let us kill you,” Steve replied. 

It laughed. 

“You gotta stop talkin’ to it, princess, it’s creepy as fuck,” Billy said and Steve had forgotten he was there. 

“That’s the least of my concerns right now man, I got a monster in me,” Steve snapped and Billy inhaled deep. 

“Yeah, remember when I told you to be careful?” 

“You think I wanted this to happen? Really?” 

“I think you let your guard down, is what I think.” 

“Look, unless you know how to get this thing out of me you can either fuck off or untie me. I gotta take a piss,” Steve groused, agitated and growing angry. 

Billy just stared at him with his stupid cigarettes and his stupid haircut and Steve really wanted to hit him. The thing liked that apparently, because a black wash flashed under his skin.  
It was the first time Steve saw Billy looked affected by what was going on. 

“The kids are at the library trying to research this parasite thing,” Billy said after a pause, walking forward so that he was standing right next to Steve’s elbow. 

“You on guard duty?” Steve quipped and Billy grinned a sharp smile around his cigarettes. 

“Nah, I’m on the “immobilize Harrington if he starts freaking out again” duty,” Billy said, far too smug as he pulled up a chair from the kitchen and sat down with a huff. 

“You can go then, I’m not goin’ anywhere soon,” Steve sighed, his muscles already tired with being kept in the same position for this long. 

Billy didn’t say anything at first, his gaze sweeping along Steve’s body, taking in his bound hands and feet. There was a flame to his eyes that made Steve’s skin tingle and he squirmed against it. Nancy hadn’t even looked at him like that. 

“You gonna untie me or what?” Steve asked and Billy broke himself from whatever trance he was in, eyes flicking up to Steve completely unreadable. 

“How do I know you won’t go berserk?” he asked. 

“’Cause I’m not trying to kill you dipshit.” 

“Ya know, if you keep being a brat I’ll leave you here all night,” Billy said, crossing his arms and grinning his smug grin, taking one of his cigs and pointing it at Steve’s tied wrists. 

Like Steve needed to be reminded of how unfair their positions were. 

“C’mon, Hargrove, you don’t wanna wash my piss out of these sheets do you?” 

Billy laughed. 

“You’re fucking disgusting,” he said, studying Steve for a moment before seeming to come to a deal with himself.

“Look, I’ll untie you, but the minute your skin starts to move or you zone out or whatever I’m knocking you out, you got that?” Billy asked and Steve nodded, suddenly desperate to be able to control his limbs again. 

Billy spat his cigs on the floor and smashed the embers out with his heel before he bent over Steve and untied his right hand. He smelled pretty heavily of cologne and it made Steve’s nose itch but he knew better than to poke fun about it now. Billy made quick work of the ropes and then Steve was up off the bed and making a beeline for the restroom. 

He splashed his face with cold water and took a minute to compose himself, his anxiety already beginning to crawl. 

_I’ll get you_. 

“Shut up,” Steve snapped, splashing his face with cold water again. 

_I’ll get you when you fall asleep_. 

Steve scrubbed his eyes, hoping the shocking cold of the water would make it stop talking. 

When he exited the bathroom Billy was fucking around in the kitchen, looking in every cabinet, ducking under the sink to see what Hopper stored. 

“I need to get out of here,” Steve said and Billy looked over his shoulder at him. 

“That’s rich, bambi,” Billy replied, continuing his snooping and further stressing Steve out. 

“What are you even looking for?” Steve demanded, running his hand through his hair and flinching when his nails scratched a tender bump at the back of his head. 

“Food,” Billy said. 

Steve snorted and Billy shot him a tired glare.

“You can cook?” Steve asked, incredulous. 

Billy looked suddenly defensive, squaring his shoulders like he was expecting Steve to push him, or make fun of the fact that Billy could cook. 

“Something you wanna say, Harrington?” Billy asked, voice devoid of emotion and cold. 

Shit, Steve didn’t know what he had said but it was obviously not the right thing. 

“I didn’t mean to imply anything, I can’t cook for shit, I just assumed you couldn’t either,” Steve tried to backpedal. 

“Why’d you assume that?” Billy asked, his posture still tense but his words a bit more lax. 

“I just–I mean, men don’t usually, shit not like…only my mom–”

“You don’t think guys can cook?” Billy scoffed, his voice edging close to that monotone danger zone that Steve knew to be aware of.

“What? Only faggots cook?” 

The slur caught Steve by surprise. 

He blinked, stunned. 

“I–fuck, no,” he stuttered, holding up his hands, “that’s not what I meant at all. Look, forget I said anything, okay?” 

“No, I wanna hear what you were trying to say,” Billy said, stalking forward and it took everything in Steve to not back away. 

_Let me kill him_ , the voice hissed. 

“Stay out of this,” Steve pleaded and Billy cocked his head. 

“You talkin’ to that thing instead of paying attention to our conversation, Harrington?” he asked, and shit Steve didn’t want a fight. 

Rather, he was scared of a fight. 

He could feel the thing crawling under his skin, could feel his body break out into a cold sweat because of it. He was almost feverish in his own fear. 

“Billy,” he croaked, mouth dry, “I’m really not looking for a fight. Especially when I don’t know what this thing can do so _please_ , for your sake, back up.” 

Steve knew, immediately, that that was the wrong thing to say. 

“For my sake?” Billy sneered, looking down at Steve with an anger that Steve hadn’t seen in him for a long time. 

“You threatening me?” 

“Warning,” Steve corrected before he could stop himself, “listen man, we both know you can kill me with your thumb, I’m not saying shit about my abilities here. I’m talkin’ about this monster that’s using my body as a finger puppet, okay?” 

Steve held a hand out between the two of them and Billy took a step forward, pressing Steve’s palm against the warm skin of his chest. In the back of his head, Steve took note that the guy still didn’t know how to button his shirt. 

_I’ll snap his neck. Just like that, just like a twig, snap snap snap_ – 

“Do you think I’m a faggot if I can cook, that it?” Billy asked, voice low and deadly and oddly detached. 

His eyes looked a million miles away and his words were heavy in the otherwise empty room. 

“No,” Steve answered, honest, “and I didn’t mean to imply it, okay?” 

He really wanted Billy to back the fuck up. 

The thing was fucking clawing at him, its desire to kill so clear and intense that Steve was surprised he was still standing. 

_Break break break break_ – 

Billy hadn’t moved, Steve’s hand still pressed against his chest, and Steve could feel each breath Billy took, every inhale and exhale. It was strangely intimate. 

“You watch what you say, you got that, princess?” Billy asked, eyes unwavering and intense. 

Steve couldn’t look away, even if his skin prickled and heated under Billy’s gaze. 

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, almost certain Billy could feel the tremor that raced through his arm. 

_Skin him_. 

Billy’s eyes were ice blue in the light coming from the kitchen window–

 _Break his bones_.  


His skin was warm, warmer than Steve’s, and Steve wondered if his hands were as cold as he felt– 

_Rip his guts_. 

Billy’s pupils were dilated.

 _Faggot_. 

Steve pulled his hand away and stepped back. 

“Lets go get food,” Steve suggested, testing the waters, “I bet Hopper doesn’t have much besides frozen peas and eggos.” 

Billy was still tense, but he swallowed and looked away, rubbing a rough hand through his hair. 

“I couldn’t find anything anyway,” he said, walking over and grabbing his jacket off the back of the kitchen chair, “let’s go. I’ll drive.” 

“Great,” Steve sighed, “I’ll buy.” 

 

––––––––––––––––

 

They went to the diner. 

Steve used his dad’s credit card, the one that was only for emergencies, but he considered feeding the people who were keeping him alive an emergency. 

They got a shit ton of eggs, sausages, waffles, pancakes, bacon, everything they could. Billy looked almost impressed as they left the diner with armfuls of the warm bags of food. 

The car smelled like breakfast and Billy turned on his music, loud and thrumming as it was, it drowned out the voice. 

When they pulled up in front of Hopper’s the kids were piled around the small kitchen table, library books scattered about the floors and couch, ten books each was a lot with the five of them, and Steve was overwhelmed with their diligence. 

He usually was.

Steve helped Joyce set up the bags of food and everyone grabbed some plates, Billy hanging back by the door, looking torn between wanting to leave and wondering how welcome he was. 

Max passed him a plate, an unspoken invitation that the rest of them didn’t have the place to give. 

“Here,” Joyce said, serving Billy some bacon and eggs, “you can’t hunt monsters on an empty stomach.” 

Billy caught Steve’s eyes and his face was half exasperation and disbelief. 

Steve didn’t laugh. 

It’d be rude. 

The voice never shut up, but with all the kids talking, and with Hopper’s records playing, it was easier to ignore. 

Steve sat away from the group, off by the corner, because he didn’t trust himself to be near them yet, not with the itch under his skin and the hissing in his ears. 

“How you doin’, kid?” Hopper asked, coming to stand beside where he was sitting. 

Steve must’ve been out of it, because he hadn’t even noticed Hopper walking up to him. 

“All right, I guess,” Steve admitted, looking down at his plate but unable to eat, “considering the circumstances.” 

Hopper laughed, a short sarcastic breath, before looking down and meeting Steve’s gaze. 

“We’ll get this out of you, you know that right?” the man asked, and he said it with such conviction it was hard for Steve not to believe him. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice weak to even his own ears.

Hopper smiled at him, sympathetic and understanding, and reached up to ruffle his hair, like Steve had done to Dustin, like Hopper did to Jane. It was parental and supportive and comforting and Steve tried not to get too emotional over it. 

“That’s what it’s like,” Dustin said, coming up to drag his own chair to sit beside Steve. 

Steve saw the kid’s nose, the bruises around it, and wanted to melt into the floor. He felt sick. 

Good. 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said, and Dustin shrugged, poking at the eggs on his plate.

“Don’t be,” he said, looking up at Steve and giving him a reassuring smile, “I know it wasn’t you.” 

“Felt like me,” Steve said, reaching his arm around Dustin and pulling the kid against his side, “won’t happen again.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Dustin scoffed, but he was smiling too big for his words to have any heat. 

“So what’s the deal with that one?” Hopper said, and when Steve shot him a confused look he nodded to where Billy was standing by Joyce, saying something that had her laughing over her pancakes. 

“Dunno,” Steve answered, noticing how comfortable Billy looked next to Joyce, how soft he was. 

“He used to be a huge douche,” Dustin said, leaning across Steve’s plate to get Hopper’s attention, “now he’s a slightly smaller douche.” 

Steve laughed. 

Hopper nodded, eyes narrowing. 

“He’s Max’s brother, right?” 

“Step-brother,” Dustin corrected. 

“Right,” Hopper said, “step-brother.” 

“Yeah,” Dustin agreed, “he broke Steve’s nose.” 

Hopper nearly dropped his plate. 

“He _what_?”

“I don’t wanna get into that,” Steve sighed, shooting a warning look at Dustin, “it was months ago.” 

He could feel Hopper’s gaze on him, reading him, and he tried not to meet it, scared at what he’d give away if he did. 

“All right,” Hopper relented, but Steve knew that the subject wasn’t really dropped, only tabled, “eat up then. Before Jane comes and snatches up your waffles.” 

All the while, Steve’s skin burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS 
> 
> i love all of you so much, i cannot believe the overwhelming amount of responses i got on that last chapter, it's insane!!!!!!!! but helped me get excited to write so thank you!!! 
> 
> still cannot believe it. wow.


	8. Baby, Where'd You Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost Valentines Day 
> 
>  
> 
> CW/TW: 
> 
> Homophobic language.

It was cold. 

The trees were tall; arms stretched dark and thin, touching the stars, scraping them across the ink of the sky. If Steve looked hard enough, if he focused passed the pounding in his head, he could see where the trees had cut through the sky, cut through space, and created the dim light pouring through. 

He blinked, and he was cold. 

It had been snowing, which was strange enough in Indiana, but this snow had fallen and had stayed, now hugged wet and cold around Steve’s ankles. He should feel that, the cold, the frozen water, but he barely registered it against his skin. His bare feet were purple in the snow, on the hard ground, but he didn’t make any move to go back inside. 

Back where the hardwood floor was warm. Where there was his bed and sheets and Hopper with a shotgun, cigarette hanging half out of his mouth, dangerous, yes, but Hopper never let it fall– 

The sun kissed the sky, swam through the scratches by the trees, warmed the skin of Steve’s paralyzed feet and hands. 

Shadows shortened, turning lavender where they were dark blue, and Steve watched with a strange detachment, as the world around him grew lighter. It was intoxicating, and dizzying, and strangely unreal. He looked at the rising sun, felt the warmth, and wondered why he hadn’t been enchanted by it before. 

“Kid?” Hopper’s voice came and brought him back and suddenly he couldn’t feel his toes, his fingers, felt the cold in his skin and intestines and realized that he probably had frostbite. 

Hopper’s hands grabbed his shoulders and guided him back to the house, up the wooden steps, over the porch, the threshold, past Eleven–Jane– sitting at the kitchen table, and into the bathroom.

Steve watched with a strange disconnect has Hopper filled the tub with water so hot it steamed the windows and fogged the bathroom mirror. There was nothing intimate about the way Hopped undressed Steve, it was mechanical and practiced, and Hopper never looked and Steve never felt uncomfortable as Hopper helped lower him into the boiling water and Steve’s skin felt like it was full of needles. 

“Jesus, kid, third time this month,” Hopper muttered, dark and low under his breath, an underlying frustration that Steve knew wasn’t directed at him harsh beneath Hopper’s words. 

_Why doesn’t he let us freeze?_

Steve was too cold to answer. 

“I don’t want to have to tie you to the bed again,” Hopper was saying, rubbing a shaking hand over his eyes and standing to lean against the edge of the sink, lighting a cigarette. 

“Might have to,” Steve replied, voice barely above a whisper. 

His words felt like sandpaper against his tongue. 

Hopper nodded, huffing deep, working his way through the cigarette in two seconds, quickly lighting another, like the nicotine was his oxygen and he’d suffocate without it. 

_Tie you up like a dog_.  
“If you still insist on going to school this week,” Hopper huffed, “then you gotta call your folks again. And you gotta let me know your present. Out of your head.” 

Steve knew he needed to speak. He needed to have a conversation now, or else Hopper would have to keep him here and watch him all day. He’d missed too much work already; he was the Chief of Police for fucks sake. 

Steve wasn’t going to keep bringing him down. 

“I’m okay,” Steve reassured, flexing his toes and ignoring the strange tingling sensation of feeling coming back, “I’ll be ready to go soon.” 

“Yeah well, at least you saw the sun rise,” Hopper grumbled, squinting his eyes up at the ceiling, “what time is Hargrove coming to get ya?” 

And that, for some reason, had Steve feeling warm in his chest too. 

_Faggot_. 

“Eight fifteen,” Steve replied, ignoring the voice and the stinging headache that came with neglecting it. 

“You’re up a little early,” Hopper said, “still got two hours. You wanna try to sleep?” 

_Yes_.

“No,” Steve sighed, “but coffee sounds fucking great.” 

Hopper nodded.

“The least I can do,” he said, pushing up from the sink, “pick up your clothes.” 

 

–––––––––––––––––

 

Billy pulled up into the driveway fifteen minutes late, music blasting and shaking the house, the thing inside of Steve shivering at his arrival. 

Steve had become very aware of the Upside Down’s reaction to Billy, at his malleable mind and physical strength, and how attracted the thing was to it. It was always disconcerting, and Steve always felt it move beneath his skin when Billy was near, but besides for its first initial move to escape from Steve and go to Billy it remained pretty dormant. 

Which worried Steve to no end, made his paranoia intense and almost unbearable, but after two weeks of having this thing inside of him he’d gotten used to the physical sensations of hosting it. 

“He’s always late,” Jane, pointed out, regarding Billy from the kitchen window. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna change any time soon,” Steve sighed, holding Hopper’s landline phone between his jaw and shoulder. 

It was still ringing, and his mother picked up on his third time calling. 

“Harrington residence, may I ask who is calling?” Steve’s mom said and Steve was always unprepared to hear her voice. 

“Billy’s waving for you to come outside,” Jane said. 

“Hey mom, it’s me,” Steve sighed, holding his other ear to block out Jane trying to get his attention. 

“Steve! Hi baby, are you still at Tommy’s?” she asked, and Steve tried to not visible flinch at Tommy’s name. 

“Yeah, sorry, I know I should have called sooner,” Steve began but his mother cut him off. 

“You’re fine. Your father just left, he’s going to Singapore! Isn’t that exotic?” 

“Um, okay, hey, I’m not sure if I can make it home tonight,” Steve said, vaguely noticing that the door to Hopper’s house was swinging open and banging against the far wall. The thing inside his veins _sang_. 

“No, you need to be home tonight, I don’t like staying in this house alone, it gives me the creeps,” his mom interrupted, and there was a noise in the background, like dishes being washed, and Steve remembered every single time he’d slept alone in that house. 

“Mom, I don’t think–”

“You’re coming home after school. I haven’t seen you in two weeks! That’s too long. Come home tonight.” 

The dial tone was his response. 

“Bambi, lets get a move on your gonna make us late!” Billy shouted from the kitchen and Steve hung up the phone with a slow defeated sigh. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he muttered, bending down to pick up his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder. 

Billy was leaning against the doorway of the porch, letting in the cold February air, and Steve tried not to notice that Billy looked good, that his eyes were bright today, the light icy blue of the sky, and that he hadn’t laid on the cologne so his natural smell came through and– 

_Cocksucker. You want him_. 

“Fuck off,” Steve hissed and Billy caught his arm in a tight grip before Steve could walk past him. 

“That to me?” he asked, but his voice wasn’t as sharp as it used to be when he spoke to Steve, his grip not as tight. 

Steve wondered, as he had been lately, if Billy kept up this hard-ass exterior as an act. It didn’t feel as real, or threatening. 

“Now it is, let go or we’re gonna be late,” Steve griped, tugging his arm out of Billy’s hand. 

Billy cuffed him over the head but kept pace beside him, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up. Steve noticed Max and Dustin in the back seat of Billy’s car, and the grip on his arm made more sense. 

“Did you at least get me some coffee?” Steve asked as they made their way around to their respective sides, and Billy tossed him a smirk that curled soft about the edges. 

“Sure did, princess,” he said, swinging himself behind the steering wheel as Steve buckled up in the passenger side seat. 

Billy passed him a still hot to-go cup, and Steve took a sip. He half expected it to just be warm milk or sugar, like Billy sometimes did, but today it was black coffee and it was perfect. 

 

–––––––––––––

 

School was always difficult. 

Steve, who generally disliked school before a symbiotic being from another dominion entered him, disliked it even more now. The voice would scream during classes, would make him claw at his hands and nails until Steve excused himself to the bathroom to try and wrangle it back under control. 

Some days were easier, others harder, and today looked like it was going to be hell. The math room was spinning; Steve was seeing double, and he felt like he had both a fever and like he was crawling out of his skin. His veins were dark blue, they looked obvious and bad, and Steve knew he looked sick by the way his teacher kept glancing at him during the lesson. 

Steve felt like his brain was going to melt out of his ears. 

Can you fuck off? 

_Kill them_. 

We’ve talked about this multiple times–

 _You want to. Hurt them and the pain will stop_. 

I can deal with a little pain. 

_Let’s see_. 

There was a burning, extreme in his head, and then he felt the warmth of blood trickle from his ears. He was slumped over his desk within five seconds. 

 

–––––––––––––––

 

He woke in spurts. 

Fist, the nurse’s office, where the room spun and the lights were too bright to see anything besides a nurse checking his arms, his veins, before leaving the room in a hurry. 

Then, a man, tall, thin, pale, with a needle that went into those dark veins. 

Last, a metal room, with wires and machines and a group of tall people watching, writing, and waiting. 

 

––––––––––––––––

 

He woke up on his bed at home. 

The panic came slowly, like a half remembered dream, and he sat up in bed and almost immediately fell back. His head hurt, a throbbing he was growing familiar with, but the voice that usually followed the feeling was absent. He rubbed his forehead, and tried to remember how he’d ended up at home, but when he tried to think his head hurt all the more.

Giving up, he gingerly sat on the edge of his mattress, cradling his head and willing it to stop _hurting_. 

The knock on the door felt ear splitting. 

“How’re you feeling?” his mother asked, standing in the doorway, take out boxes in her well-manicured hands. 

“Like shit,” Steve groaned before thinking better of it and nearly toppled over when his mother slapped him upside the head. 

“Language! Goodness, Steven, you’ll never meet a girl with that kind of talk,” she hissed and Steve felt an odd twist at her words, an odd defiance that his mother would suggest who he would end up with. 

“Anyway, I bought dinner,” his mother said, handing him some of the take-out. 

Steve took it from her with a strained smile and she brushed his hair out of his eyes with her red _red_ nails. 

“Your school doctor said you have the flu,” she hummed, pressed the back of her hand against his skin, “but you don’t feel warm.” 

“Fever must have broke,” Steve said, looking into the take-out bags with shaking hands. 

His head still hurt, but not as pronounced, and the sight and smell of fried chicken made him realize how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten all day. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” his mother said, patting his head and making to leave.

Steve felt a strange urge to make her stay. 

“Don’t you want to eat together?” he asked, suddenly afraid to be by himself. 

“I’ve already darling, it’s past nine, I’m making my bath and going to bed! I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that she closed the door and Steve was alone in his dimly lit room. He felt unnerved, expecting to see the smoke man in the corner before remembering that it was inside him instead. 

Cold, and on edge, he made his way into the bathroom connected to his room and turned the shower on, letting the water burn his skin. He knew the voice hated heat, and it was strange that it wasn’t talking. Steve didn’t know why that worried him, only that it did. 

He stripped and got into the shower, not flinching away from the heat of the water but welcoming it instead. He tried to focus on the feeling of the spray, of the healing his headache. He was so tired, he felt it in his bones. 

He just wanted to be well again. He just wanted– 

A clatter and a thud made him jump, and he banged his knee on the metal faucet to the bath. 

“Fuck!” he hissed, hands slipping as he frantically turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. 

He moved slow, feeling especially naked without his bat in his hands. He pushed over the bathroom door and had to do a double take. 

Because Billy fucking Hargrove was climbing through his second story bedroom window, making one hell of noise and not seeming to care. Steve stood frozen, watching as Billy slipped into his bedroom like it was an act he could do in his sleep.

Maybe that was it. 

“Are you drunk?” Steve blurted out and Billy looked up, only a little surprised to see Steve standing, wet and barely clothed, before him. 

To be fair, this was Steve’s bedroom, and Billy hadn’t even been invited in. 

Billy grinned, the grin that was sharp and white toothed, the one Steve knew he wore when he was either nervous or on edge. 

“Is this a bad time?” Billy asked, dark eyes sweeping over Steve’s torso, and Steve felt a rush of heat in his stomach. 

He wasn’t one to blush, hell, he wasn’t nervous at all with Nancy, but no one had ever quite looked at him the way Billy was now. The way Billy always did. He became aware that he was only in a towel, and that his hair was wet, and that Billy was fully clothed and dry.

He felt vulnerable. 

“I don’t think you’d leave if I told you it was,” Steve answered, voice only slightly choked. 

Billy shrugged, making a huge effort to look at everything except Steve. Steve didn’t know why he felt disappointed, but the idea that maybe Billy was a little uncomfortable at Steve’s half dressed state gave him a little more confidence. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. 

“Why did you break into my house, Billy?” he sighed, praying the headache wouldn’t start again. 

“You weren’t outside for me to take you to Hopper’s today,” Billy said, eyes narrowed and adamantly avoiding looking at Steve’s chest. “But, this was the only other place I could think to look.”

Immediately, Steve felt guilty.

“Aw, shit, man, that’s my bad. My mom wanted me home tonight,” Steve apologized, tapping his foot anxiously on his carpet. 

“That who you were talking to on the phone today?” Billy asked, only a little but of frustration seeping into his tone. 

“Yeah,” Steve answered, swallowing passed another apology. 

“Let me know next time,” Billy groused, beginning to walk around Steve’s room and examining the dresser. 

Steve’s room was bare, besides for a poster of a woman in a bikini by his door, his dresser and night table. Beyond that, there wasn’t really anything else to look at. 

“Yeah, I will,” Steve promised, shifting his weight and now crossing his arms because he was starting to get cold. 

Billy glanced at him and stilled. He drew away from the dresser and approached Steve slowly, gesturing to Steve’s right bicep as he walked. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” Billy asked, stopping a foot away. 

“Did I what?” Steve asked, eyebrows furrowing as he held out his arm. 

There was a small red puncture on his bicep, and as Steve looked closer there was another in the crease of his arm and his wrist. 

“The fuck?” Steve hissed, running a finger tentatively over the marks. 

He looked up to see Billy watching him, his expression mirroring Steve’s. 

“What are they?” he asked Billy, not really expecting an answer, and definitely not expecting Billy to reach out and take his arm, for Billy to look at the marks with care and intent. 

“They look like needle holes,” Billy said, looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. 

Billy was close, and warm, and Steve felt that heat again, that pleasant heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. The heat he only felt with girls, with attraction and sex. He’d never felt it sharp like this before. 

Sharp. 

Like electricity. 

Inexplicably, he wanted to lean forward. 

He wanted to touch Billy back. 

He wanted to–

Steve pulled his arm out of Billy’s gentle grasp. 

Billy didn’t let go. Instead, he stepped forward, and his close proximity made Steve’s breath catch in his throat. 

He knew he should probably lash out, that he should push Billy away, that he was too close; close enough that Steve could see the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow. The light from Steve’s bedside table cast the side of Billy’s face in a soft gold yellow, made him look gentle, made him look vulnerable. 

Billy’s touch was hot on Steve’s arm and it was addicting. 

Neither of them spoke. They were scared to shatter whatever hung heavy in the air. 

Then Billy’s eyes flicked down. 

Steve couldn’t breathe. 

He was terrified. 

“Steven did you fall?” his mother’s voice was loud and grating and Steve jumped back away from Billy and this time Billy let him go. 

“I’m okay!” he called through his closed door, heart jackhammering in his chest, “just tripped over some clothes.” 

“All right, quiet down, I need to sleep.” 

His mother’s footsteps disappeared down the hall and Steve had to take a moment to get his hands to stop shaking so badly. 

“I’m gonna get dressed,” Steve muttered, not meeting Billy’s eyes.

He pushed past him to his dresser, grabbed some clean boxers and sweats and headed for the bathroom. He dressed in a hurry, like maybe if he were fast enough his hands would stop trembling and his heart would calm down. 

Billy was sitting on the end of Steve’s bed when he returned back to his room. 

“What are you still doing here?” Steve snapped, not meaning to be rude but unable to help it because Billy terrified him. 

Billy’s touch terrified him. 

If his mother hadn’t walked in, and if Billy was a girl, then Steve had no doubt in his mind they’d have kissed. Probably would have fucked, if a girl had ever looked at Steve with as eyes as dark as Billy’s had been.

“Making sure that thing in you doesn’t get to ya,” Billy replied, his voice tense and guarded, “but you seem just fine to me.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Steve snapped, not looking at Billy. 

“Sure ya don’t, princess,” Billy replied, standing with a huff and making his way back to the window, which he had at least closed so the cold wouldn’t get in. 

The thoughtful gesture had Steve wanting to reach out, wanting to ask Billy to stay. 

“I lost time today,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush because even if Billy scared him Steve didn’t want him to leave.

He was more afraid of being alone. 

Billy stopped by the window, hands on the latch to unlock it. He looked at Steve over his shoulder. 

“How bad?” he asked. 

Steve swallowed, unprepared for the panic that swelled in his chest. 

“Bad,” he admitted, feeling weak and small, “I don’t remember anything after math.” 

Billy turned fully, arms crossed as he leaned against the window. He was silent for a long moment. 

“Were you in the nurse’s office?” he asked, voice devoid of any emotion. 

“I…I think so?” 

Billy blinked jaw ticking. 

“What do you mean you “think so”,” Billy demanded, “you don’t know?” 

“I mean,” Steve began, trying to breathe, “that I did go to the nurse’s office. I did, but there was a man and a room with metal? And I really don’t remember anything clearly, it’s all not right, and I haven’t heard the voice since and it’s kind of freaking me the fuck out.” 

“Jesus Christ, Steve, why didn’t you lead with that?” Billy hissed, striding forward but remembering himself, stopping a good distance away from Steve. 

A safe distance. 

“I was kind of surprised you were climbing in through my bedroom window, dipshit,” Steve snapped. 

Billy threw his hands up in exasperation, running his fingers through his long hair. 

“Listen princess, when you lose time like that and may or may not have been kidnapped–”

“Whoa,” Steve interrupted, ignoring the icy feeling in his chest, “you think I was _kidnapped_?” 

Billy shot him an unimpressed look. 

“You were taken from school, weren’t you?” 

“I…what?”

“You said,” Billy began stepping forward towards Steve again, “that there was a man, and a strange room, and that you don’t remember anything else?” 

Steve swallowed. 

“That– _fuck_ that’s what it sounds like,” Steve croaked. 

“Yeah, princess it is,” Billy whispered, looking at Steve with hooded blue eyes. 

“Shit,” was all Steve could think to say. 

He felt lightheaded. 

“Whoa, hey, don’t pass out on me, c’mon,” Billy moved forward, took Steve’s shoulders and guided him to the bed. 

Steve sat down with a heavy thump and a part of him really wished the voice would fucking say something. 

“I don’t know why it’s not talking,” Steve whispered, and Billy stood in front of him, watching him like he was waiting for Steve to clock out any second. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Billy asked. 

“It fucking should be,” Steve said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I just wanna sleep. I’m too wired to sleep most days. I feel like I’m losing it again. At least with the voice talking I knew what to expect but with it silent I don’t know if it’s fucking with me or if something happened between the time I passed out in math to waking up in bed.” 

“What do you wanna do?” Billy pressed, voice level in a way that Steve needed. 

He didn’t want to have to make the decisions anymore. He was tired of having to do all the work all the time. 

He was tired. 

“I dunno,” he sighed, shivering from the draft from his window. 

He didn’t know why he hadn’t put on a shirt. 

“We gotta get you to sleep,” Billy said after a moment, and his gaze was heavy and hot on Steve, “then we’ll figure the rest out. You said you went to the nurse’s office, right?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, taken aback by Billy taking charge so effortlessly. 

“We’ll go to her tomorrow and ask what the fuck she did. But, for now,” Billy noticed the KFC take-out by Steve’s bed and walked over to it, picking it up and handing it to Steve, “you need to eat.” 

“I’m not hungry,” Steve said. 

“Eat anyway,” Billy insisted. 

“I’m not–”

“Steve,” the sincerity in Billy’s tone shut Steve up instantly, “fucking eat.” 

Steve reached out and took the bag from Billy, picking out a chicken wing and eating slow. The food wasn’t warm but it wasn’t bad, and Steve hadn’t realized he was starving until he started eating. 

Before he knew it he had eaten the whole bag, and Billy took it from him before he fell asleep on the leftover oil. 

“All right, bambi, go to sleep,” Billy whispered, and Steve nodded before scooting up his mattress and slipping under his comforter. 

Steve heard Billy make his way over to the window and he didn’t know what made him reach out and grab the hem of Billy’s leather jacket. Billy stilled and Steve turned off the bedside light and closed his eyes against the warm blush of embarrassment. 

He half expected Billy to punch him. 

Another half knew he wouldn’t. 

“Don’t go,” he whispered into his pillow, feeling small and hating it but needing to speak, “please. Just–until I fall asleep. I’m scared something bad will happen again.” 

There was a heavy, deep silence, and Steve was left feeling how fast and hard his heart was beating. 

Then, a weight on the edge of his mattress, and Billy sat down. 

Steve fell asleep not five minutes later. 

He woke to his window closed and an extra blanket draped across his body. 

_He should have let you freeze._

Steve was almost relieved. 

Welcome back, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN SO LONG. I've lost a little motivation and I'm also currently in the process of raising money for a short film I'm shooting in January, so my time is pretty packed full. 
> 
> But I just had to keep writing this, it's so much fun.


	9. Is This How It's Gonna Be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost valentines day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: 
> 
> mentions of implied assault and homophobic language.

It was dark and cold. 

Steve was walking barefoot through the forest, underbrush breaking and snapped under his feet. He didn’t feel the splintering of wood, or the prick of frozen dirt. 

He didn’t feel anything.

He kept walking, unseeing, through the gaps in the trees. It was night, he couldn’t see the stars or the moon. He couldn’t see anything except the next approaching tree. The woods were silent. Nothing but him. 

Eventually, the trees thinned, and soon cleared, and he stepped out over a small hill to overlook the old building of Hawkins Lab. The gate was sealed with chains and yellow caution tape. There were no guards patrolling outside. It had become a forgotten landmark, a fossil deep in the woods and at the foot of the hills. 

Steve looked closer. 

There was a light inside one of the small basement windows, not strong at all, a beam from a flashlight.

He took a step closer. 

“Steve!” 

He woke up. 

The road was cold and bare beneath his feet. 

His hands were red and raw from the cold, the skin of his face felt like it was peeling, the numb from hypothermia sinking in. The only points of warmth were Billy’s hands holding his arms, gripping him tight. Steve could remember when Billy’s touch had brought blood and broken noses and split lips.

Now, it was comforting, and warm in a world that had begun to frozen over. Steve didn’t even glance down at his arms. He knew by now what his veins looked like. 

_He’s so persistent towards you_. 

Steve swallowed and tried to focus is eyes in the gloom. He wanted to see Billy’s face.

 _I need to get home_. 

Me too, Steve thought, Billy’s eyes becoming clearer the longer he stared.

“Harrington! Hey!” Billy snapped, loud, under his nose and Steve blinked. 

_He’s not letting us leave_. 

He’s worried, Steve supplied and the thing inside him _squirmed_. 

“ _Shit_ , hey, princess, you gotta speak remember? What color are you?” Billy urged, his voice strained in his growing panic. 

Steve didn’t like it when Billy panicked. It meant he’d call Hopper, or take Steve to Joyce, and then Dustin would worry and everyone else would begin to panic because they didn’t know how to tell Steve that he was losing it, that they didn’t know what the hell they were supposed to do, that at the rate this thing was feeding off him he’d die in–

“Color, Harrington!” Billy snapped and Steve jolted in his grasp. 

“Yellow,” Steve croaked, the words feeling like gravel scraping his throat. 

Billy studied him for a long while, eyes intense and searching. 

“Shit,” he muttered, reaching up a hand and running his thumb under Steve’s right eye. “Your eye’s not better.” 

Steve hadn’t looked in a mirror in two weeks. Last he had, the whites of his right eye were turning grey. 

He didn’t want to know what it looked like now. 

His vision hadn’t gone, but everything he saw was fuzzy, the lines of everything multiplied into reds and greens and blues. If he had to describe what it was like to Jane, he told her with was like looking through 3D glasses. And then he had to describe to her what 3D was. 

“I need you to talk to me,” Billy said, snapping Steve out of his head, “you’re yellow, got it. Can you feel this?” 

He rubbed under Steve’s eye again. 

Steve felt nothing. 

So he shook his head. 

The world was coming back slowly. 

He felt like he’d been walking through jello, everything slow and heavy and subdued. Now, he could see Billy’s car parked haphazardly at the side of the road. He could see the bark of the trees that the headlights highlighted. He could look up at the sky and see no stars. 

“Fuck,” Billy sighed, stepping away but not letting go of Steve’s arm. “I gotta take you back.” 

_He wants to hurt us_. 

Flashes of heat, hot _hot_ heat, played in front of Steve’s eyes like the worst kind of migraine. 

“I’m not going back to Hopper’s,” Steve hissed, his voice unrecognizable to even his own ears. 

Billy didn’t look surprised by it. If anything, he looked tired. Defeated. 

_He’s weaker than you, isn’t he?_

Billy and him stared at each other for a long time, considering. 

In the past, Billy would have dragged Steve back by his hair, they would have fought, punched, been at each other’s throats. But their relationship had changed, had evolved somewhere along the way, and Steve knew that Billy wouldn’t make him do anything. 

“Where do you wanna go then?” Billy asked.

 

///

 

They pulled up to the Hill Diner at exactly three a.m. 

Paper cupids and red hearts were cut out and taped on the windows. Steve almost didn’t want to go inside.

“Ya know,” he said, talking for the first time since their drive over, “last time I was here on Valentines Day was with Nancy.” 

Billy didn’t say anything, just slammed his car door shut and leaned against the still warm hood, waiting for Steve to close his door and start walking. 

“She asked about you again at school today,” Billy said, fidgeting with the cigarette behind his ear. 

Steve closed the passenger side door and walked to stand beside Billy. A part of him wanted to know what Nancy had asked about. Whether or not she was worried about him. Another part, a much bigger part, didn’t care. 

“You wanna smoke before we go in?” Steve asked. 

Billy looked a little surprised, maybe because Steve was coherently speaking, which, after his losing time episodes in the past usually couldn’t happen for more than a few hours after, or maybe because he had expected to talk about Nancy Wheeler. 

“Nah,” Billy groused, pushing up off the hood, long legs accentuated by the light coming from the diner, “lets get you inside before your hands fall off.” 

“My hands aren’t gonna fall off,” Steve argued, but stuffed them under his t-shirt regardless. 

He was more concerned about his bare feet. 

The waitress recognized them almost instantly. She dipped into the kitchen, and re-emerged when Billy and Steve had situated themselves at their usual booth in the back of the diner. She set a shoe box on the table. 

“Thanks, Martha,” Steve said, taking the box and flipping open the lid. 

She was staring at him, looking at him with pity that Steve hated to see. He knew he looked sick. He knew his right eye was not pretty, that the veins peeking out from the collar of his long sleeve t-shirt were black and inhuman. He hated people staring. 

But Martha only looked for a short bit before turning her attention to Billy instead. 

Steve didn’t know why that was worse. 

“You boys are gonna get into some serious trouble one day,” she said, blue eyes flicking to Billy with every word. “Chief Hopper ain’t gonna be happy that you’re here now.” 

“How about we don’t tell him this time?” Billy asked, leaning back in the booth and spreading his arms across the back, his white shirt pulling tight against his chest at the motion. 

Martha noticed. 

“This is the second time this week Mr. Boman’s made me run to the station to get another box here for Steve,” Martha said, gesturing to where Steve was trying not to get involved in the conversation by slipping on the socks. 

“You’ve really been helping us, Martha,” Billy said, voice dropping down into that deep, slow drawl he developed while flirting with girls, “how can we repay you?” 

Martha’s cheeks went pink but beyond that she remained unaffected, which Steve found impressive because Billy was giving her his full attention, not looking away once, and Steve himself could barely handle Billy staring like that. 

“You free tomorrow night?” Martha asked and Billy stilled, minutely. 

If Steve didn’t know Billy as well as he did the action would have gone unnoticed. Billy was hesitating, Steve realized, because for the past two weeks Billy had been keeping an eye on Steve. He’d be the first to find him in his sleep wanderings, in the woods, down by the quarry, in the middle of the road; there was a selfish part of Steve that thrived and glowed from the idea of Billy choosing him over a date.

There was a part of him that was happy about it. 

“Free as a bird,” Billy said, smiling wide with his teeth. 

Martha nodded, and on her small notepad, wrote down her number. She put it on the table in front of Billy. 

“Pick me up at this address, eight thirty sharp, and don’t be late mister,” Martha instructed, before straightening up and smoothing out her apron. 

“Now,” she said, “you boys want the usual?” 

Steve, suddenly, didn’t feel like talking. 

Especially to Martha, even if she had been so kind as to get him shoes and socks and gloves. Hopper, after a month of finding Steve in the woods, his skin frozen and cracking, decided to give out emergency kits around town in Steve’s most frequented areas. There was the shoebox at Hill Diner, usually containing socks and gloves and shoes, because this is where Steve liked to come when he’d wandered too far. 

There was a shoebox in locker 13 in the boy’s locker room at school, filled with granola bars and aspirin and some soda pop for if Steve lost time and went into shock during class. Hopper also kept supplies in his cabin with Jane, and had given Dustin and Mike and Max walkie-talkies to keep in touch with him when he had his police radio on for work.   
Hopper had tried his hardest to make Hawkins childproofed for Steve Harrington, and Steve still had no idea how to repay the man. 

He didn’t know how to repay any of them. 

“Hey,” Billy’s voice brought him back again, “color?” 

“Green,” Steve answered, a little to quick, but Billy didn’t comment on it. 

He didn’t say anything, so Steve didn’t either. They sat in silence until their scrambled eggs and bacon arrived, and then they ate in silence too. Martha stopped by the booth at the end of her shift and bid them a goodnight, letting her hand linger over Billy’s bicep as she talked. 

Steve didn’t know why that angered him. 

_We could kill her_ , the voice said, speaking up for the first time in a long while; _we could skin her and use her guts as decoration_. 

That’s so fucked up man, Steve thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. 

_She’s taking what’s yours, isn’t she?_

Billy’s not mine, Steve argued, trying to refocus on where he was. 

It was never good when he got into his own head because him and the voice were conversing. 

_Skin him and he is_ , the voice argued, accompanying his words with pictures, images, fantasies, that had Steve’s stomach turning. 

You need to stop, Steve hissed, digging his nails into his temple to try and block the voice out. 

_Why? Isn’t this what you want? Don’t you want to get down on your knees, open your mouth for him? Isn’t it? Cocksuckers like that, isn’t that what you_ – 

“Shut up,” Steve snapped, loud enough that the few people in the diner turned to stare. 

Billy was looking at him with his brows furrowed, his lips red, his jaw strong and his hands– 

_See?_

Steve nearly fell over in his haste to get out of the booth, his heart hammering in his chest, so hard he could feel it in his ears. He ignored the stares of the other patrons and instead pushed open the door and stumbled into the night. The cold air helped a little but not much, not with the thing still yammering, still talking about crude scenarios that Steve hadn’t even let himself imagine– 

“Harrington! What’s wrong with you?” Billy called after him, and Steve just walked faster, nails scratching his arms to try and distract himself with something. 

“Don’t fucking follow me,” Steve snapped, not looking back to see how close Billy was. 

“The hell, bambi, c’mon, stop,” Billy reached out and grabbed Steve’s shoulder, stopping him from walking and for a second an image of Billy, arm broken back, shoulder dislocated, flashed before him. 

Steve recoiled from Billy’s touch like he’d been burned. 

In a way, he had. 

_Make him get on his knees for us_. 

If you don’t shut the fuck up–

 _You’ll what? Kill me? Kill me, you kill yourself_. 

Sometimes I really _fucking_ want to. 

_Open up the gate then. Let me go home._

If you think for one second, that I’m stupid enough to reopen _hell_ on your word to be good you’re insane. 

_Never said I wasn’t. What other option is there? You want me inside you forever?_

“Steve,” Billy’s voice washed back and Steve felt the other man’s hands on his cheeks, holding him still and steady and it was a touch that was so intimate and so unexpected that Steve and the thing shut up. 

“You’re getting in your head again,” Billy hissed, eyes flicking back to the diner to make sure no one was peeking out the windows. 

They weren’t, and Billy turned back to face Steve. 

Steve, who felt like Billy was lighting him on fire. 

“You need to get away from me,” Steve whispered, voice low and broken. 

He knew he looked pathetic in old shoes, a ratty shirt, his skin pale and eye fucked and shit, he was so fucked up– 

“Not gonna happen, dipshit,” Billy said, eyes unwavering as he stared at Steve. 

“It wants me to kill you,” Steve said. 

Billy didn’t even blink. 

“You wanna know how many people want to kill me, Harrington?” Billy asked, tone bitter and young. 

“I don’t want anyone to try and kill you, asshole, least of all me and this weird ass parasite so you need to let go and just let me find my way back home.” 

Billy fucking _laughed_. 

Steve wanted to punch him. 

How could this guy not realize the danger he was in, constantly in, because of Steve? It wasn’t a joke, and it wasn’t a game, and it wasn’t Steve trying to one up him. It was Steve trying to never let those images he just saw become reality. He could feel it moving under his skin, moving like water, heavy in his veins. 

He needed to push Billy away.

He needed to get Billy to stop helping him. 

He needed to–

 _Kill him_ –

Steve kissed him. 

And everyone shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a long chapter, but I really wanted to write and given my limited time nowadays I needed something for a happy new years gift. 
> 
> if you want to check out the film i'm currently working on to help spread the word that would also be greatly appreciated. as are comments for motivation. 
> 
> 2017 was rough for so many people, i hope 2018 is kind. 
> 
>  
> 
> to check out my film: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/little-mighty-film-drama#/


	10. Sweet On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steamy

Steve had done plenty of dumbass things in his short life. 

He had gone underground to help fourteen year olds blow up the heart of a monster from another universe. 

He had let his friends write “Nancy Wheeler is a slut” on the movie theater board show times. 

He had looked for a demodog with Dustin.

He had stolen bourbon from his dad. 

He had once masturbated with his door open. 

But this–kissing Billy Hargrove at three thirty a.m. in a public parking lot the day before Valentines Day–was the dumbest. 

It wasn’t a long kiss, and it wasn’t deep or passionate, and Billy didn’t kiss him back. The kiss itself was over in three seconds. They stared at each other, both shocked into silence, for longer.

Then Billy punched him. 

To be fair, Steve should have expected that. He should have thought out the consequences for kissing hyper-masculine-has-dated-every-girl-in-Hawkins-Billy-Hargrove, but he didn’t. 

At least the voice had shut the fuck up. 

Billy didn’t punch him hard; in fact, Steve could reason it was out of reflex than anything, because Billy immediately stumbled back, face red and eyes wide in the dark. He looked around them, frantically, like he was expecting someone to jump out and catch them. Steve should’ve thought about that. Plenty of gay folks had disappeared in the woods near Hawkins Indiana. He was lucky Billy had the mind to look around for the reasons _why_. 

Steve could taste the slight tang of blood on his tongue, and his jaw was aching with zings of sharp pain every now and then, but it was definitely one of the softer punches Billy had thrown his way. 

And to be fair, Billy did look like he wanted to punch him again. His hands were shaking, fists curled tight at his sides, and he was breathing heavy, like a bull barely holding itself back from charging. 

Steve was a dumbass, remember that. 

“That all you got?” Steve asked, his hands tingling but he ignored it, because all he wanted was for Billy to beat him to death and then he’d never fuck up anyone else’s life ever again. 

“Are you fucking _insane_?” Billy snapped, words enraged and barely held together, “do you know what happens to faggots, Harrington?” 

_Gut you. Impale you on stakes. Ssssskin you alive in a lake_ –

“Yeah, dipshit, I do. You probably shouldn’t be seen with me anymore, I’ll walk home,” Steve said, all the anger and frustration boiling away in place of his growing exhaustion. 

Billy looked taken aback, surprised, before realization dawned across his features and he looked even angrier than before. 

“What the _fuck_ are you trying to do here? You kissed me to make me leave? What the fuck kind of messed up mind games are you trying to play?” he growled, rolling his broad shoulders and Steve looked away, couldn’t look at Billy any longer. 

“I’m not trying to– _shit_ , Billy why aren’t you beating the pulp outta me, huh?” Steve retorted, words sharp with his frustration, “you almost beat me to death for less, why aren’t you turnin’ me to mush now?” 

Billy’s eyes flashed, nostrils flaring, and for a moment Steve thought he had him. He expected another hit. He didn’t expect Billy to shake his head, wipe his mouth roughly with the back of his hand, and turn to walk towards his Camaro. 

“You almost risked both our lives to get me to beat the shit outta you, Harrington?” Bill asked, and his voice was so cold Steve began to realize the danger he’d put their relationship in, put the two of them in, “you know, I’m not into hammering a guy who’s dyin’.” 

“I’m not…” Steve began but couldn’t finish. 

He would be lying, if he did. 

“Get your ass in the car, Harrington,” Billy sighed, voice still detached, not meeting Steve’s gaze, “and if you kiss me again I really will put you in the ground. You don’t fuck with me like that, you got it?” 

Steve didn’t know what to say. The guilt was clogging his throat so horribly he felt like he was choking. 

“Billy, I–”

“Shut up,” Billy snapped, a familiar rage creeping into his tone, into his features, “shut the _fuck up_ or I really will break all your teeth.” 

Steve swallowed, and took a step forward. He couldn’t feel his hands, or his feet, and he could recognize easily when the thing was beginning to take over. He didn’t know what he was thinking would happen, what he’d become without Billy’s support, but he didn’t expect to get weaker. 

He didn’t expect to want to give into it. 

_You can rest_ , it said, _you can rest and I’ll leave. I’ll go away. All you need to do is sleep. For a few hours, just sleep_. 

For the first time, the things offer sounded good. 

_You’re really fucking everyone up_. 

Steve didn’t have the energy to respond. 

Instead, he walked around and got in the Camaro. Billy didn’t speak, just started the engine with an aggression that had Steve worrying over the ignition, before he peeled out of the driveway and out onto the road that led to Hopper’s, away from town. 

_He’ll try to burn you_ , it hissed, a panic that wasn’t Steve’s own seeping into his veins, _he’ll try to burn the heart out of us_. 

Guess we deserve it, don’t we? Steve asked.

It didn’t respond. 

The trees passed by in a dark blur, and Billy turned on his music, blasted it so loud it vibrated the seats and tingled Steve’s teeth. Steve felt horrible. Both for what he did and it not working, and for putting Billy in the position he had. 

Steve wouldn’t blame the guy for never wanting to see him again. Steve could tell Billy was angry enough to cut him out. 

He could taste it in the air, the bitterness that Billy was feeling towards him. It made his heart flutter. It also made him panicked, guilty, angry–at both himself and Billy because if Billy had just acted the way Steve had been expecting, if he’d just gotten angry, beat him, left him stranded in the lot and never contacted him again–then maybe Steve would have been able to spare Billy the hurt of supporting him. 

_I need to get home_. 

Stop talking, Steve pleaded, leaning his head against the cold glass of the car’s window, please stop talking. 

_We can make a deal_ , it said. _We can make a deal and I will leave_. 

What kind of deal? Steve asked, because why the fuck not? 

He would die if he kept this thing in him. Who knew how long he had left? 

_You get me to the gate, the small girl opens it, and I leave, I go, and it’s over_ , the thing hissed and Steve rolled his eyes closed, tried to focus on how nice the frosted window felt against his skin. 

He felt like he had a fever. Based on past experiences with this thing, he probably did. 

You know how much effort it took us to close the gate in the first place? Steve asked, ignoring the shake in his hands, he continued: there’s something in there that wants to come out. I doubt that thing is you. 

The thing didn’t respond for a long while, and Steve tried to focus on anything besides his headache, tried to focus on the loud music Billy was playing instead. 

_Give me the girl and all will stay inside_ , it said. 

Go to hell, Steve snapped, and blocked it out. 

 

///

 

Billy pulled to a stop off the main road, killing the engine and headlights under the cover of the night and trees. 

If they kept driving a mile up, they’d get to Hopper’s. Steve didn’t know why they’d stopped, and Billy was gripping the steering wheel so tight he was wary to ask. Thankfully, Billy spoke first. 

“Why’d you kiss me?” he asked, not looking at Steve but looking out into the woods before them. 

Steve hadn’t prepared to hear that question, hadn’t prepared for the aftermath of his actions at all, and so he barely had time to process Billy’s question. He opened his mouth to answer but Billy cut him off. 

“Don’t lie,” he said, words stiff and absolute, “you owe me that much.” 

He was right. Steve knew that. 

He had an answer to Billy’s question, he did, but how could he say it out loud when he hadn’t even had time to come to terms with it himself? 

Why don’t you ever help me out with these kinds of situations? Steve thought, and the thing shivered under Steve’s skin. The sensation almost felt like a laugh. 

“I don’t know,” Steve answered, and hoped it would be enough. 

Billy scoffed, drumming his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel, before reaching over and snapping off his radio. It was deafly silent; Steve couldn’t hear anything except the woodland animals, an owl up in a tree. The air in the car was heavy with tension, with unspoken words, and Steve wanted to break it, wanted to just be honest, but more than that he wanted to leave and not have to face Billy Hargrove in the dark. 

_You're a coward_ , it said. 

“I told you not to lie,” Billy replied, threatening. 

Steve took a deep breath, tried to steady his heart. 

“I kissed you because I wanted you to leave me alone,” Steve answered, honest, “I don’t want to drag you down with me.” 

There was silence as Billy considered this. 

“That doesn’t explain why you chose to kiss me,” Billy said after a while and Steve turned to stare at his profile in the dark. 

“Yeah, it does–”

“Most people don’t kiss someone to push them away,” Billy argued, fingers still drumming against the wheel, “you could’ve said anything.” 

Steve knew that.

Deep down, Steve knew that. Steve knew about Billy’s father. He’d seen the bruises on Billy’s neck, cheeks, the cut lips under the diner’s light. Max had told Dustin and the kids enough of her stepfather’s anger for Steve to fill in the pieces.

If Steve had really wanted to push Billy away, he would’ve brought up that. Brought up him being weak, call him a pussy, anything regarding Billy’s past life in California. He had thought a kiss would work, would fill in the blanks of all that. He was hoping that Billy was homophobic, that his usual quick temper would come into play. 

It hadn’t. 

Steve was never prepared to handle Billy. 

He should have realized that by now. 

“I don’t know why I kissed you,” Steve admitted. 

Billy was quiet for a long time. He moved his right hand first, slowly; slow enough that Steve could piece together what Billy was doing before he did it. His hand rested lightly on Steve’s knee, his touch scalding even through the fleece pajama bottoms Steve was wearing. 

Steve didn’t know what the fuck to do. Billy’s touch was both familiar yet foreign, hot and chillingly cold, and Steve didn’t know what to do with it. The voice didn’t either, if its silence was anything to go by. A weighted quiet fell over the both of them, and it was suffocating, not knowing what to do. Steve didn’t even consider taking Billy’s hand from his leg. 

“Can you feel this?” Billy asked, voice choked and softer than Steve had ever heard.

He sounded like a kid. 

Steve felt like one.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, somehow worried that speaking any louder would shatter whatever moment the two of them had created. 

“Is it nice?” Billy’s words were curious and guarded, like he was dangling from a string and expecting Steve to cut it. 

Steve would never cut it. He was dangling right there beside him. 

“Yes,” Steve answered, not bothering to lie. 

His heart was beating so fast, so hard, that he felt it in his ears. He’d never been this nervous in all his life. Billy wasn’t a girl. Girls, Steve knew. Boys? Boys like Billy? It was a great unknown. 

The two young men weren’t looking at each other. Steve was keeping his focus on the dashboard and into the dark woods beyond. Most of his attention though, was on Billy’s hand, and how it moved up and stopped on his upper thigh, Billy’s fingers dangerously close to his crotch. Close enough; that Steve was entirely aware of the position he was in. Fleece pajama bottoms did nothing to hide a stiffy. He wondered if Billy could feel how hot he felt, if Billy was even looking. 

Steve was never someone to think things through. 

He turned, expecting Billy to be looking away. Instead, Billy’s eyes were meeting his, and the moment was as loud as it was silent. 

Steve was a dumbass. He was a _reckless_ dumbass. 

Fortunately, Billy was too. 

Steve didn’t know which one made the first move, only that one of them had, and that the gearshift was digging into his hip, and that Billy Hargrove was kissing him. 

And he was kissing _back_. 

It was tentative, at first. Testing, like they were both waiting for the other to pull away or send out another hit. When neither of them did, Billy gripped Steve’s thigh, and heat pooled hot and warm in Steve’s stomach and groin. He didn’t even try to hide his sharp inhalation as he pressed closer, and Billy didn’t try to hide the stuttered gasp he made before Steve’s lips moved against his and they both fell silent. 

Kissing Billy was something Steve hadn’t let himself think about. If he did, he tried to banish the thought as soon as it materialized. They kissed slow, at first, slow and careful, and then Billy’s tongue met Steve’s and it became a little frenzied, a little frantic, and all Steve was aware of was Billy’s taste and Billy’s hand and how hard Billy was making him get.

He felt like a livewire, like every move and touch was electrifying, and he fumbled to get his seat belt unclasped, his hands shaking so horribly he barely managed it. But Steve didn’t care, and Billy didn’t care, and it was exhilarating. They didn’t part to take a breath, didn’t dream of it, because whatever was happening now may never happen again and Steve couldn’t handle kissing Billy and then forever be denied. 

He climbed over the center console without thinking, long legs knocking against fucking everything and Billy laughed against his lips. 

Steve bit him in sharp retaliation and squeezed himself to hover over Billy’s lap; knees pressed tight against the door and Billy’s jean clad hips. He tried not to press himself against Billy’s stomach, but Billy was a really good kisser and Steve was slowly forgetting himself. Billy’s hands wandered up Steve’s thighs, fire lighting over Steve’s skin, and rested on his hips, Billy’s thumbs slipping under his shirt to rub at the skin underneath. 

Steve felt dizzy, felt _wild_ , felt like, if Billy wanted, he’d let Billy have sex with him. He felt his rationality flying out the frostbit window, and when Billy’s tongue licked along the top of his mouth he couldn’t help the breathy sound that left him. 

In the past, he’d been silent during sex, or making out, never one for much noise but with Billy he was finding himself fighting to be quiet. Billy’s left hand roamed, nails scraping against Steve’s side and Steve shivered, thighs shaking from holding himself up over Billy’s lap. Billy noticed, like he did most things concerning Steve Harrington, and his smile curved the shape of their kiss. 

He pulled back, but not far, planting one loud, open-mouthed kiss against the corner of Steve’s mouth, his stubble pricking against the tender skin.  
Steve opened his eyes, met Billy’s own, and though it was dark Steve could make out how big Billy’s pupils were, wondered if his were as large. Wordlessly, without breaking eye contact, Billy’s other hand came up to Steve’s side, and, slowly, both slid down to Steve’s ass, gripping firmly. Steve wasn’t expecting the jolts of heat that sizzled along his nerves at the gesture but he _liked_ it, pushed back slightly into Billy’s touch, leaned forward to connect their lips again and–

The car horn blaring made them both nearly jump out of their skins, Billy’s hands falling away and off of Steve immediately, and Steve fell forward in surprise, balancing himself by resting his hands on Billy’s shoulders. 

They both looked around, on instinct, and then realized what had happened and looked at each other, eyes wide, hearts pounding. 

It felt like ice had been dumped over Steve’s skin, and Billy’s expression mirrored the feeling. Billy shifted, and the movement rubbed against Steve’s front, where, in his panic, he’d landed his full weight against Billy. Billy stilled, awareness and realization in his eyes and for the first time all night Steve flushed red. 

“Don’t say anything,” Steve snapped, voice rough and mouth dry. 

Billy grinned, teeth flashing, and Steve felt his own arousal in the tips of his toes. 

“Don’t say what?” Billy hedged, moving his right hand up Steve’s thigh; teasing along his hip, “don’t say that you’re hard?” 

Steve swallowed, rapidly losing focus the closer Billy’s hand got to his crotch, and he wished it were lighter, wanted to see Billy’s face clearly, wanted to see if Billy was as affected as he was. Steve squirmed, shifted on Billy’s lap, and Billy’s hands tightened on Steve’s hips. 

It was Steve’s turn to smile. 

“You’re one to talk,” he said, feeling Billy’s own hardness against his thigh, pressing up in the confines of Billy’s jeans. 

Billy rubbed circles into the skin of Steve’s stomach, under his shirt, and Steve really wanted to kiss him again was already missing it. His lips were tingling, both from the making out and Billy’s stubble. 

“Why’d you kiss me?” Billy asked again, voice quiet but as rough as Steve’s in the dark. 

“I wanted to,” Steve answered, carefully raising his right hand to wipe away spit on Billy’s bottom lip, “I just didn’t know how you’d respond.” 

Billy raised an eyebrow. 

“Wasn’t expecting this?” he asked. 

“Were you?” Steve retorted. 

Billy shook his head, an awed look sliding across his features, before he rose up and kissed Steve deep, kissed him hard, and Steve wasn’t even embarrassed that his cock twitched. 

“Color?” Billy asked, his mouth moving against Steve’s lips and making them tingle all over again.

“Green,” Steve said without thinking, leaning down to kiss Billy again. 

But Billy pulled back. 

“Think about it, asshole,” he said, holding Steve in place with his hands on Steve’s hips.

Steve wanted to argue, wanted to tell Billy to stop babying him, but he didn’t. Billy was, surprisingly, right. Steve sighed, leaning down to rest his forehead against Billy’s. He tried to take stock of himself. He couldn’t feel Billy’s touch anymore, he realized. Couldn’t feel the warmth of Billy’s thumbs against his hipbones, couldn’t feel the heat radiating between their bodies that fogged the windows. 

He swallowed, frustrated, and shook his head. 

“Can’t feel,” he admitted, hating himself, hating this fucking thing inside of him–

“Okay,” Billy said, nodding and slowly leaning back away from Steve, which was the last thing Steve wanted right now, “lets get you back, princess, the sun is comin’ up.” 

Steve hadn’t even noticed the soft rosy hue that was color the once ink sky, and he reluctantly extracted himself from Billy, sliding back over the console and into his seat, crossing his arms and trying not to show his frustration. His cock throbbed, wanting release, but he must have some masochistic kink because he hooked up with Billy in the first place. Billy put the car in drive, glancing over at Steve as they drove back up to Hopper’s house.

The light was on in the kitchen, and Steve really didn’t want to go inside. 

“You shouldn’t go to school today,” Billy said, pulling up and putting the car in park. 

“Yeah, probably not,” Steve admitted, his heart still hammering in his chest. 

Billy looked up to the house and when no movement showed from inside he leaned over and kissed Steve again, and Steve was thankful it wasn’t just him who wanted to kiss Billy all the time. It seemed the desire ran both ways. Billy, because he was a little shit, bit Steve’s lip between his teeth as he pulled away. 

Steve watched, enthralled, as Billy licked his lips after. 

“You’re not helping me here,” Steve groaned, burying his face in his hands. 

Now would be a good time to show me grotesque pictures, Steve thought, and the thing twitched beneath his heart. 

_You two are enough of one_ , it said. 

God, don’t tell me you’re getting an attitude now, Steve sighed, and removed his hands to look at Billy. 

He was really attractive with his kiss-swollen lips, messed up hair and wrinkled clothes. And now, with the sun rising, Steve could see that Billy was just as hard as he was. Unfortunately, Steve had to walk inside to a late forty year old man and a fourteen-year-old telepathic child that just found out what curse words were. He hoped the cold would kill his boner on the way in.

“Hey,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, his hand on the door’s handle, “are we good?” 

Billy grinned, and something unreadable flashed in his eyes, something that was gone too quick for Steve to see. 

“Yeah, we’re good, princess,” he said, watching Steve with that intense look of his, “now get your firm little ass inside before Hopper skins me, okay?” 

“Yeah yeah, I’m going, shit, is this how you usually are at the end of a date?” Steve groused, not even realizing what he said until he was out of the car. 

Panic swelled, but one look at Billy and it went away without a trace. 

He was smiling, a true wide smile, one of his private Steve-only smiles, and Steve felt a warmth different from arousal course through his veins and light up his dying heart. 

“Just get your ass inside, Harrington,” Billy grinned, voice happier and lighter than Steve had ever heard it. 

“Oh!” Billy called after him, and Steve turned on his way up the drive, already freezing from the cold, “you look like you just fucked, so maybe wanna fix your mane. Happy V Day!” 

Then, without another word, Billy peeled out of the gravel lot, leaving Steve alone and still hard in the driveway in the middle of the woods. 

_He really has a hold on you_ , it said, curiously. 

Steve didn’t answer. 

How could he, when he had never felt so alive? 

He turned, after Billy’s car had disappeared into the trees, to walk back up the porch and inside. Joyce was standing at the door, wrapped up in a thick, grey robe, her small feet jammed into large slippers, and a cigarette dangling from her lips. She was fighting back a smile, Steve could tell, and her eyes twinkled as he made his way up to her. 

“Please don’t say anything,” Steve pleaded, half expecting Joyce to kick him out into the street. 

Or worse, tell Hopper and they could arrest him together. 

Instead, Joyce reached out, and brushed Steve’s hair back out of his eyes, her fingers resting warm and comforting on his cheek. 

“Never,” she promised, before kissing his nose and offering him a cigarette. 

He took it, and she lifted her arm, let him sidle up against her side under the large robe. 

In the cold, with a monstrous parasite inside him, he’d never felt so warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wish i had more time to write this story because now i'm really getting back into it except it's probably the busiest time of my entire life LOL 
> 
> feedback would be super helpful, i wanna make sure this is reading okay!
> 
>  
> 
> side note: traffic light colors to check in on someone is typically used for bdsm scenes to gauge where the other person is mentally, and be able to check in with very few words needing to be said.


End file.
